


The Last Requiem

by Shinocchi



Series: Same Heart; Different Universe [9]
Category: DRAMAtical Murder (Visual Novel), DRAMAtical Murder - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Feudal Era, Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Japanese Culture, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Plot, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-23
Updated: 2015-11-14
Packaged: 2018-04-16 18:27:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 23,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4635672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shinocchi/pseuds/Shinocchi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five years after the century-long war, Midorijima was back to its usual peace, led by a newly inherited Emperor who intended to take a road no one ever walked on. It was a relief for many, as well as Aoba, who could finally leave his horrendous past behind him and live a normal life as how he yearned for.</p><p>But everything was just calm before a tremendous storm. And before they knew it, they were pushed into a repeated history, now with additional challenges on friendship, loyalty and determination.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Calm Before A Storm

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Feudal Era AU that has been haunting my head for a very long time. I'm terribly excited to have this up and running at long last! This piece is also dedicated to my third year writing anniversary. My first piece was DMMd fanfiction was a KouAo fic, so I thought of finally gifting a heavy-plotted multi-chapter story for this OTP of mine :')
> 
> This has no direct correlation to actual historical timeline. If it helps with visualizing, let's put it in a way where Midorijima is undergoing a feudal era of itself, referencing the feudal era culture and beliefs we know of, in its own way.
> 
> Lastly, enjoy~
> 
> The lyrics of the song belongs to Edo Lullaby, you can listen to it [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SgKqrEzWIdY) :)
> 
> Also, a _wakizashi_ is a Japanese traditional sword shorter than a _katana_ , you can read more about it [here](https://simple.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wakizashi). I'll put up terms explanation when I get into more of them in the upcoming chapters.
> 
> Thanks for reading! :D

Year 1865 wasn’t exactly a year of prosperity, at least not for the residents of Midorijima. It’d been a century of war, of blood and of gratuitous struggles. Lingering between the fine line of hope and despair, the residents of Midorijima had learned how to survive when time became too tough for them; they were constantly in alert mode, frequently making sure that they were all prepared to fight, to go for shelter if a war was to break out out of the blue. It was a relentless life of hide-and-seek. And it was in year 1872 that the situation shifted for a better turn. When the new Emperor inherited his throne, overthrowing the masked puppet label nailed onto his ascendants, Japan took over a more radiant atmosphere; and for once, people were looking up to their King, as well as, finally, taking him as a symbol of prosperity.

Days were better than before; wars were ceased. But no one ever let their guard down, despite how optimistic things were right now. Because for all they knew, it could be just another calm before a storm - just like how it was a century back.

_Hushabye, Hushabye!_

_My good Baby, Sleep!_

__

_Where did my boy's babysitter go?_

_Beyond that mountain, back to her home._

__

_As a souvenir from her home, what did you get?_

_A toy drum and a shō flute._

__

Aoba woke up with a start, sweat drenching the whole of his face and his back. For a few moments, all he did was staring vacuously at the ceiling, mind blank as he tried to regulate his heavy breathing. The nightmare wasn’t something he was unfamiliar with. For the past five years, he’d find himself waking up like this - breathing profound with every inch of his skin soaked in sweat. The image was awfully vivid in his head: blood, corpses, pain; everything was painted in immense red and all he could do in his dream was stare as screams vibrated deafeningly in his ears, as body after body collapsed right before his very eyes. And the moment he wanted to lend a hand, either supporting a falling person or defending himself, he’d find himself knocked out by a terribly hard impact on his back, causing him to wake up abruptly like that, with no memories of what had just happened in his dream after a good few seconds of calming himself down.

They weren’t scenes he were unfamiliar with either. Five years ago, he was right there, right in the middle of this bloodstained battlefield, blood splattered all over him and all he could was fight, fight and fight. It was his only option for survival and it was the only thing he ever wanted. It was a period of cruelty and brutality; an age of blood and pain.

Shaking his head irritably, he sat up, covering his eyes with his hands as muffled sobs elicited from his lips. His heartbeats were still loud in his ears and he was trying agonizingly hard to stop himself from shaking, to remind himself that he was no longer living in fear and horror. It took another few moments for him to finally calm down. Lifting his head up, he turned his vision reflexively to the sight outside of his slightly agape window. The sky was still dark, he had another full hour before dawn. He could barely hear any sound from the pavement outside of his house, despite living in an area where traffic was usually heavy. Midorijima was still sleeping, and by the sight of the forlorn surrounding now enveloping the Seragaki household, he was sure that none of his family members was awake too.

Deciding to take an early rise, he took a deep breath, stood up from his bed and stripped himself off his sweat-soaked clothing before he stepped into the bathroom, the nightmare from before slowly dissolving out of his mind.

The air in the bathroom was chillier than he expected it to be. Feeling a sheen of cold air brushing across his skin the moment he opened the door, he let out an instinctive shiver, brushing both of his arms with his hands before he took a step in, suddenly regretting his decision to wake so early. He didn't remember himself as a person who'd wake up so early; if ever, he was the only person who one could still find in his bed even when the sun was already up and bright. But the frequent nightmare had obviously taken a toll on him, flipping his usual lifestyle upside down. Giving out a loud yawn, he walked sloppily into the bathroom, stopped in front of the mirror and rubbed one eye with a knuckle before he focused his attention on his own reflection, topless and visibly sleepy.

He caught sight of the faded wound on his abdomen, flinched at it and looked away as soon as he found distant memories attempting to sneak their way into his mind again. Years later, he could still remember how it once felt to have a sharp blade slashing its way across his skin, drawing blood and cutting into his soft flesh and eliciting pain so agonizingly daunting it numbed all his sensations. The thought almost revived within him  when he quickly grabbed a nearby pail and filled cold water into it, then splashing his face with frostiness extreme enough to distract him away from his own thoughts.

He knew it'd take years for him to get rid of the past that had been haunting him now; but the process of going through it wasn't any sympathetic than he expected it to be.

"Aoba?"

He almost jumped at the sudden voice. Looking up with water dripping from head to toe, he could barely make out a shadow standing at the doorway. He wiped his eyes with a hand, noticing who it was before he compelled a laid-back smile onto his face.

"Hey."

"You're early today." His brother, Sei, was smiling at him from the doorway, distinctly amused to find an unexpected guest in the bathroom before him.

"Ah, yeah. I promised Haga-san that I'll turn in earlier today."

"I see."

It was a few moments of silence but the sound of water splashing that was Aoba washing his face until Sei spoke again,

"Do you need help?"

"Hm? Ah, no, I can do this myself." He must have thought that Sei was referring to helping him with his washup.

"Not this," Sei smiled with an evocative tease. "With anything else."

He understood where his brother came from. His family had always been on top of the scene for him, their apprehension often way too obvious for Aoba to overlook.

"I'm fine," Aoba said with a beam. Standing up, he grabbed a nearby towel and rubbed his face dry with it. "I'm surviving."

"Is that what you want?" Sei asked instead, still staring as Aoba walked out of the bathroom, heading towards his bed to retrieve his light-blue kimono. "Just to survive?" Sei emphasized, as if trying to make his point clearer for Aoba.

What he'd gotten in response was a brighter smile from his brother, and one reply that sounded as hearty as Sei remembered Aoba to be.

"Being alive is all I need."

****  
  


The sun was starting to peek its head out from beneath the cloud when both Aoba and Sei returned to the dining room, where their grandmother, Tae, was laying out plates on the wooden table.

"Let me hel--"

"Aoba sits here."

Before he could even offer, Sei had pulled his wrist and urged him to sit on the nearest wooden chair he could grab while he strolled towards the kitchen, assisting Tae with the remaining of the things she needed to do. While Aoba let out a bitter smile, he tore his gaze away from the working pair, looking around the space instead.

He appreciated how simple his home  was at this very moment: simple atmosphere, simple layout, nothing too extravagant. It was a great personification of the life a Seragaki member yearned to have. And it was also everything he had been fighting for in order to be able to earn a day like this. Surrounding himself with tranquility so strong like this lifted a heavy stone off his chest. It was worth everything he’d done, everything he’d sacrificed and there was nothing to be remorseful of; he’d made the right choice, even if that mere choice had pushed him towards his current situation now - another thing that his past had crafted out of him.

The meal was simple as well: rice, a few simple dishes consisting of dried fish and vegetables and he ate everything to the last bit of it, rejecting an extra bowl of rice before he stood up, heading towards his room to prepare for the day. Despite how light-spirited the mood in the room he was previously in, he felt a sudden bizarre sense of chilliness all over him the moment he stepped into his own room, as if he’d just entered a whole new dimension that he had no idea of. It could be a reflection of his innermost subconscious, one that he was trying hard to suppress. Hastily sweeping the thought aside, he pulled his hair up into a high ponytail, all the time staring at his own reflection in the mirror before he tidied his clothing up once again, then putting up a confident smile, as if trying to tell himself that he’d survive just as well in this peaceful era. He was about to head out of the room when he found his own gaze fixed at one of the drawers of his bedside table. He flinched at the thought of the item lying in there - a good old sword of his that he’d never miss bringing along with him five years back - and, aggressively shaking his head again, he gave the both sides of his face one good slap before he stepped out of the room, leaving the blade alone in where it was supposed to be.

Midorijima was starting to buzz with its usual morning activities now. The sun was wholly up, blanketing a humid air across the town. While Aoba put on his straw hat in front of their gate, Sei pulled him back, halting all of his actions.

“Will you be back earlier today?” he asked, chuckling when he noticed how unkempt the straw hat looked on his head where Aoba had clumsily wore on it.

“I’ll try,” Aoba said with a pout when Sei reached out to straighten his straw hat for him.

“Don’t run into troubles again,” Sei reminded before he slipped a hand down his face, resting gently on his shoulder. “I’ve noticed the bruises on your shoulder.”

“E-eh? Wait, wait, it’s not what you think it is!”

“Hmm?” Now Sei was giving him a suggestive smile and Aoba pulled a distance away, giving out a loud, unnatural cough before he pulled up a defense.

“I helped Haga-san carry a few rice sacks into the shop yesterday.”

“So you’re overexerting yourself again,” Sei commented, a tone way too low-key for Aoba to decipher.

“W-well, it was nothing much.”

It was a few moments of eye-to-eye stare later that Sei let out a small sigh, then patting Aoba on the head.

“I thought they’d accept you perfectly after a good five years. But it seems like it requires more time than necessary.”

Aoba didn’t need Sei to tell him explicitly what he was saying to understand what he was implying. The very same thought had been haunting Aoba ever since he’d returned from war. He had shared the same assumption as his family but there was no way they could manipulate how others wanted to perceive him so that was that.

“I wish they would give you a second chance,” Sei continued, noticing the slight agony on Aoba’s face.

“...Maybe I don’t deserve one, and,” he quickly heightened his tone before Sei could interrupt him. “I understand that perfectly well. It’s not something people can forgive so easily anyway.”

“Even when your intention for doing so was for the good of many?”

Sei’s question left him gaping. He had no answer to this, and he knew that Sei didn’t have an answer as well. The light pat on his head and the soft kiss he left on his forehead before his brother retreated back to the house had told him so.

Letting out another quiet sigh, he sent an affectionate smile at the direction of the closed door before he straightened himself up and headed towards the street, which was now almost packed with early birds.

Even after five years, there were still hints of destruction in certain corners of the town. The residents had tried their best to restore the place back to how it once was; but a lot of efforts were futile, their capacity was limited. There wasn’t a lot of things that they could do. Aoba remembered how the place was before it was in an undisturbed state like this, and he was sure that he wasn’t the only person who remembered how horrible the mere sight of a town-in-war was. It was a personification of a near-extinction experience. Lives were rare, happiness was non-existent. The place was constantly on fire, buildings were torn apart, corpses were seen lying everywhere.

It was as if the whole of Midorijima had turned into a Hell of its own, engulfing the life force in the town and sending them into a direction of no return.

No one thought that they’d survive the century-long war. All they could do was pray everyday and keep making wills so that they won’t have anything to worry about if they were to drop dead out of the blue the next day. It was an era of fear and mouse versus cat. While Aoba passed by an abandoned site where a row of houses once stood, he halted his steps, turning ever so slightly just so he could make out the vague outline of what seemed like a pile of burned down buildings. It pricked his heart remembering what used to stay here. He remembered when he was still young and immature, he used to play around this place, greeting the children who once resided in this exact building. Now, he didn’t even know if his once friends were still in one piece.

Noticing that he was becoming overly uptight over his past again, he looked away, took another deep breath, then walked speedily down the street, hefty breath released from his chest when the sight of Heibon - a weapon refinery shop he worked for - came into sight.

“Good morning!”

He walked into the shop, expected to be greeted by a wide grinning middle-aged man as usual. But what greeted him instead was an empty space, silent and very much unoccupied.

Weird.

“Haga-san?” he called out again, this time with a louder voice. When there wasn’t any reply, he frowned, suspicions bubbling from within him when he heard a sound echoing from a room deep in the shop; not loud enough to make him jump, but definitely audible enough to heighten his alertness.

“Haga-san?” he called, casually reaching out to a small blade he could grasp from one of the shelves as he took unhurried paces towards the room, swallowing down his throat with his heartbeats increasing in tempo alongside every step he took.

“Aoba-kun!” He almost threw the blade in his hand when he heard a sudden, booming voice, catching his own hand just in time before he could do just that.

Letting out a relieved sigh, he discarded the blade to where it belonged before he turned to face his employer.

“You’re scaring me,” he confessed, earning himself a bitter smile from the other in the next second.

“Ah, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t tell me you’ve been working in there for the entire night?” He knew that there were a few urgent businesses to settle by daylight, but he didn’t expect it to take so long, to the extent that the owner of the shop had to sacrifice sleep for it.

“It’s quite tricky. You’re early, by the way!”

“Yeah, I said I would be here earlier today, remember?” His vigilance dissolved into nothing, a tender smile now gracing his features.

“That’s great help!”

“Haga-san,” Aoba said, before the other could say another word. “Why not you go back for the day? I should be able to handle the shop matters for the rest of the day now.”

Haga gave him a doubtful look before he broke into a smile, then walking towards Aoba and patting him on the shoulder.

“Ouch!”

“Oh, sorry!” he apologized, pulling his hand back at the same time. “But thank you, Aoba-kun. I guess that’s for the best now.”

“Of course. Now what should I do today?”

“I’ve laid out a set of daggers on the counter,” the shop owner explained, moving towards the counter at the same time, where he placed a newly refined dagger alongside the other four. “All you need to do is wait for the owner of this dagger set to come over and retrieve what he entrusted us.”

“O-oh, yeah,” Aoba responded, eyes fixed unblinkingly on the set of daggers. “I can do that.”

“I’ll put them back to their sheaths now,” Haga said, purposely ignoring the way Aoba was staring so intensely at the weapons that he was almost glaring at them. “By the way, Aoba-kun.”

Disturbed, Aoba fidgeted a little, then giving out a soft cough before he responded,

“Yes?”

“Do you mind coming over here for a bit?”

Obeying, Aoba walked towards the counter, joining Haga to stare at the row of blades.

“I would like you to tell me if this _wakizashi_ is smithed properly,” Haga said after a short while. Before Aoba knew it, he was lifting a _wakizashi_ out from behind the counter, holding it up just enough for Aoba to make out the shape of it.

“H-huh? But…”

“I trust your judgement,” Haga interrupted with a smile.

“But I…”

Haga had then pushed the sword right under Aoba’s eyes, clouding his whole vision with the blade. He halted, eyes instinctively scrutinized the pattern on the blade the moment it invaded his line of sight.

“This is a… _shaku_.” Reflexively, he reached out to trace the edge of the blade, feeling the cold sensation of metal against his skin and let out a small yelp when he pressed a bit too hard into the blade, almost drawing blood if he hadn’t pulled himself back just in time.

“What do you think about the pattern of the blade?” Haga pressed instead, noticing the struggles in Aoba’s eyes.

The blade was a shorter version of the _wakizashi_ series; what Aoba saw in front of him was a fine smithed sword, one that looked more like a decoration than a tool for killing.

“The person must be a very delicate person,” Aoba said. As if to reaffirmed his point, he traced his fingertip against the pattern, following the waves of it, and stopped until he reached the tip of it before he let out a small smile. “... to have requested for such an easygoing pattern, this person must be very meticulous with the type of weapon he choose. One stab could possibly open a two-inch wound if he uses adequate amount of strength and precise judgement of stabbing position.”

For the entire time, Haga merely gazed at Aoba with deep interest in his eyes. The moment Aoba finished his commentary, he smiled, taking the _wakizashi_ away and put it back into its sheath before he pushed it into Aoba’s hands once again.

“This belongs to another owner too. Make sure to give it to him when he comes,” he instructed before he turned his back towards his employee, picking up a straw hat from the corner of the shop and strolled towards the door, all prepared to take his leave.

“Aoba-kun,” he said out of a sudden, then turning around just enough for Aoba to see his side profile. “You had a pair of great eyes when you’re all alert like that. Don’t let your burning passion tune out. Remember what you want to do.”

Aoba was slightly taken aback by the comment Haga had thrown at him. But soon, he shook his head, grasping the sword tightly in his hands as he responded,

“A past should remain as a past, Haga-san,” he said, calm and determined. “I don’t intend to return to how I once was.”

His answer was responded by nothing more than another smile, one that told him that his employer wasn’t very much convinced with either. And not before long, he found himself all alone in the space again, faced with nothing but an abundant of weapons.

A few moments of short silence later, the reality of him being all alone in the space finally drown into him as he retreated to sit behind the counter, hands still grasping tightly onto the _wakizashi_. He’d seen the pattern to it; he’d speculated how the owner would look like. And for some reason, it triggered some sort of instinct within him - one that intensified his desire to meet the person. He placed the _wakizashi_ alongside the dagger set, eyes still fixed remotely at it before he gave out a sigh.

He thought about his sword - his own _wakizashi_ that he’d left at home - and wondered how did people manage to entrust their weapon to someone else just like that? He remembered how he once treated his weapon as part of himself; he never wanted anyone to touch it, let alone letting anyone to alter its shape. That was how he’d picked up his weapon refinery skills anyway. Rather than putting such a huge responsibility on the hands of another person - a stranger, nevertheless - he resorted to fix his own weapon to his own liking with his very own hands. All the swords he’d once owned contained not only his blood, but his effort, his soul; they were, indeed, part of him.

As he got immersed with his own self-indulged thoughts, his gaze swam back to the new weapons again, suddenly hearing a click in his head. He broke out into a laugh. He was literally working in a weapon refinery  shop. If he wanted to keep his job, he might want to consider altering his own mindset then.

He never laid his hands on the weapons others entrusted them with anyway - being a kind request he’d proposed to Haga on the day he started working here. Bearing a heavy and bloodied history was a curse of its own: people around him saw him as if he was a survival who wasn’t meant to be alive. No one was willing to have anything to do with him - fearing that his past would thrust a dangerous threat upon them - let alone hiring him. He was almost giving up hope when he found himself standing in this very shop four years back, gawking at the weapons he was surrounded with as he was treated by a kind-looking man who was now his employer.

He didn’t know why Haga decided to take him in then, despite knowing how it’d affect others perception towards himself. But he did, and the “the past should remain as a past, what I see now is a lost puppy who’s looking for a place to belong” words he’d told Aoba was something that would always stay close to Aoba’s heart.

He was almost dozing off when the door slammed open, causing him to almost fall off his bench when three children - two boys and a girl - came rushing into the shop, as if they owned the place.

“Not again… Oi, oi, stop right there! Don’t touch anything!” Aoba stood up right after a sigh, literally running out of the counter to snatch a box filled with spare blade parts out of the youngest boy’s hands.

“Aoba is here!” the other boy exclaimed, running right into Aoba’s abdomen and almost toppling him over if he hadn’t been grasping onto the table for balance.

“Put that back!” he cried again when he saw the little girl picked a shield up from a corner and gazing interestingly at it. It wasn’t anything too dangerous to be handled by a few children but leaving things in a mess was the last thing Aoba ever wanted as he struggled out of the grasp of the boy, fighting his way towards the girl instead and was about to grip the weapon out of her hands before he heard loud voices from behind him.

The boys had just crashed into a row of spears.

“Careful!” he screamed, jumping on them right on time before the spears could rain down on them.

“Seriously… Why are all of you such-- hey, I said put that back!”

His attention returned to the girl, who merely grinned in response, throwing the shield at Aoba when Aoba rushed towards her.

“Aoba is a selfish man!” she cried, pouting at Aoba while the other gritted his teeth at her.

“This is not a playground for all of you!” he shouted. He wasn’t great in reprimanding people himself, let alone trying to teach children a lesson. But he needed to do something if he wanted to protect his position as a worker in this shop.

“Okay, okay, done! Get out of this place now. I have nothing for-- no, not that one!”

He had turned around just in time to see the older of the two boys picking the _wakizashi_ up from the counter, a face of amazement as he stared at the sheath, seemingly ready to disclose the blade at anytime.

“H-hey…” Aoba’s voice was weak, his heart was stuck in his throat. This was the worse. He should’ve kept the blades away first before these children could even access to them. But now what done was done, all he could do was trying to remain calm as he took a step towards the boy, his thoughts running in such a rapid speed he could hardly think of a coherent way to manage the situation.

“Aoba, did you craft this?!” the boy asked excitedly, waving the blade in front of his face, every one of his motion made Aoba feel as if he was being stabbed right in the chest.

“I didn’t. I--”

“Does it belong to you?” the child asked again, his grin broadened.

“No, it’s not mine. It belongs to someone else so, just… please, put it back?”

He tried to be as gentle as he could but that seemed to be the worst decision he could ever make. His heart dropped when he noticed how the boy was smiling so gleefully at the item as if he’d found himself a piece of treasure.

“ _Please_ ,” Aoba pleaded, praying hard that his plea would reach the child. But what happened in the next second almost made him pass out then and there.

The boy had taken the sheath off, revealing the sharp blade of the _wakizashi_ and before Aoba could figure out what he was supposed to do, his body had done the job for him, pushing him to lurch forward, grasp a handful of the blade and pull it off the boy’s hand with such force that had the boy staring wide-eyed at him, completely awestruck.

"Aoba..."

"Now stay still and don't move," Aoba said with a stern voice, frowning as he glared at the children. But soon, his scowl softened, the petrified faces he witnessed on the children's profiles pushing him into a whirlpool of confusion.

"What's wron--"

His words were cut short when the door swung open again, this time, revealing a man - one whom Aoba was extremely familiar with.

"Oh, all of you are here."

"Brother Kou!" The only girl of the three-person group ran towards the man, pointing at Aoba with terror written all over her face.

"What's-- ah."

Aoba could only stare at the man, a mix of confusion and frustration on his face. He couldn't figure out what was with this sudden change of mood but all he knew was that in the next second, the man had pushed the girl towards the door, then coming back to fetch the other two boys, muttering something about "I'll handle the rest" before all the children were hauled out of the room, leaving Aoba and the man alone in the space.

"Your Maj--"

"Shh." The man has rushed up to Aoba before he could stop speaking, pressing a finger against his lips as he curved up a smile. "We've talked about this."

Aoba could only manage a smile before he looked around the messed up space, letting out a loud sigh before he shook his head.

"And here I thought I wouldn't have anything better to do today. Seems like it's going to be another long day."

"Before that," the man interrupted him again, urging Aoba to look at him. "We'll treat this first."

"Huh? Wait, ouch!"

The man had lifted Aoba's hand up then, the one which was still holding tight to the blade before he clicked his tongue, portraying a face of dissatisfaction as he glared at Aoba.

"How long more do you intend to hold on to this?" Without waiting for an answer, he carefully pulled Aoba's bloodied fingers open, picked the _wakizashi_ out of it then scrutinized the wounds on Aoba's hand, all the time with a difficult look on his face.

"I'm sorry, I didn't notice." That was the only thing Aoba could say before the man ushered him to sit on a nearby stool, then disappearing into one of the rooms behind the shop, leaving Aoba alone to feel the sensation of pain finally slipping into his nerves.

He was used to pain; but that was a five-years-ago story - when he was insensitive to pain and that pain was part of his everyday lifestyle. He tried as hard as he could to avoid himself from creating wounds on his body again, not because he didn't want to feel the terrible sensation again, but because doing so would worry his family, and he didn't want history to repeat itself now that his family shouldn't have any reason to worry about him any longer. But it seemed like this was, yet again, one of the things that he needed time to adapt to.

As he stared at his awful-looking blood-stained hand, he felt a rush of blood that he knew was stemmed from his sleeping subconscious. The smell of blood, the mere sight of it; everything was something so dreadfully familiar to him that he couldn't help hitching a breath when he heard the dripping of his own blood on the floor, telling him that this wound was at least an inch deep, and if he wasn't careful, he'd even find himself passing out thanks to lack of blood.

The man returned shortly with what seemed like bandages in his hands. Flinching at the ugly sight, he pulled a stool from another corner, placing it so that it was facing Aoba and settling himself comfortably in front of the dazed man.

"Tae-san and Sei would get a heart attack if they're to see this," he commented, an attempt for a joke.

“Why are you here anyway?” Aoba asked out of the sudden, going straight into the core of the discussion. As expected, it caught the man off guard, and with another awkward beam, the man continued with cleaning the wounds on Aoba’s hand, seemingly unready to give Aoba an answer.

“Are you on a secret patrol again? How about your bodyguards?”

Aoba’s persistence wasn’t something that one could take lightly either. As the man lifted his gaze up to look into Aoba’s eyes, he knew that he wouldn’t give up until he gave him his answer, a trait he’d remembered of him dearly.

After a few moments of hesitation, he started, “Yes, the usual.” A pause, in which he started wrapping Aoba’s hand with layers of bandages, surprised at how Aoba didn’t even flinch a bit at the pain he must’ve accidentally incurred on him when he was cleaning his new scars. “I don’t need any bodyguards.”

If one was to say that persistence was part of Aoba’s traits, then being extremely observant could come closely as the next as well. What troubled him more was the fact that he knew exactly why Aoba was acting this way, and how he’d come about being as such.

He was expecting Aoba to throw him more questions but then Aoba fell silent himself, visibly dropping the matter, even though the qualms were still strong in his eyes whenever their gaze met.

“So,” the man spoke again, intending to break the uncomfortable silence now spreading in between them. He was done with treating to Aoba’s wounds. Holding his hand delicately, he forged out a smile, then looking up at Aoba. “How have you been coping with your new life?”

“You’ve been asking this for a few years already,” Aoba pouted, but the man knew that he wasn’t exactly annoyed. He was probably having problems answering this exact same question himself no matter how many times he was to ask. He told Aoba to be as upfront as he could when it came to him, but knowing him, it probably wasn’t something that could be achieved in such a short time frame either.

While Aoba hesitated, he lifted his hand up, kissing on the palm, against the bandage; the reaction he received from Aoba pulled a bigger grin on his face.

“H-hey! I said to stop doing that!” Aoba struggled, but the grasp on his hand was strong and there wasn’t much he could do unless risking a reopening of his wound.

“I wonder what would people say, huh?” the man joked with a teasing glance at Aoba’s flustered face.

“Wh-what?”

“I was just wondering what would people think about you, a legendary assassin, being so easily flustered over a mere kiss. You should show this side of you more often, perhaps it could help break the ice.”

“Y-you…” Aoba gritted his teeth, face red and scowling. Then, he let out an angry huff, turning his attention away from the man before he shot a retort at him. “I wonder what would people think about you then. It’s it really appropriate to do this kind of thing to a peasant, Your Majesty Koujaku?”

His retort elicited a loud laugh out of Koujaku as he held Aoba’s hand in both of his hands and closed his eyes, seemingly considering the question through his head.

“I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again,” he said with a tone so calm it made Aoba feel bad to even play a joke at him. “There’s no status difference between us. For me, you’re just the crybaby Aoba I knew since I was a kid. And for you,” he opened his eyes, smiling gently at Aoba, amused to see how Aoba had immediately softened down at him the same moment he did that. “I would always be Koujaku, just Koujaku.”

The comeback seemed to have done its job perfectly as Aoba mirrored Koujaku’s smile, then ruffling him on his hair.

“Don’t let anyone else hear this,” he teased.

“Let them,” Koujaku defended. While Aoba was trying to say something else, Koujaku stood up, tidying his maroon-colored kimono before he continued, “I need to return to work. I think you need to as well.”

Aoba managed a small chuckle then. Standing up from his seat as well, he nodded, escorting Koujaku towards the door.

“Will you be free later after work?” Koujaku asked at the doorway, putting on his straw hat at the same time.

“I don’t know yet but…” He shot a quick look at the set of daggers on the counter, silently praying that the owner would come and retrieve them soon, especially now that Koujaku seemed to have something up on his sleeve.

“Meet you at our usual spot then,” Koujaku continued without waiting for an answer. “Oh and,” with a tilt of his straw hat to cover most of his features, he turned around, just enough to curve his lips at Aoba. “Bring that _wakizashi_ along.”

His request left Aoba in a daze. But he didn’t need too long to figure out what was really happening anyway. As he watched Koujaku’s back disappearing down the street, he let out a relieved smile, wondering if he really deserved this kind of guilty happiness.

It appeared that his wish was granted in the next hour after all. The person who appeared on the doorway was a kind-looking middle-aged man, who seemed like nothing more than a weapon collector to Aoba as he packed the daggers nicely for him, inquired his opinion on the quality, and smiled brightly when the owner of the weapon set gave him kind compliments accompanied by a kinder smile on his face. He spent the rest of the day cleaning up the place instead, the mess became too unbearable for the eyes even though he had been infrequently cleaning up the space whenever he found the chance to. Heibon didn’t usually get a lot of walk-in customers anyway; most of the orders were retrieved from personal connections between Haga and the Midorijima residents. So, in a way, the shop could also be depicted as a place where Aoba seeked shelter. It wasn’t the best resort he sought for, but it was an assurance, and at the very least, it helped him regaining confidence before he was ready to face the world upfront again.

He almost ran out of the shop when the time stroke six. Taking another quick look to make sure that everything was still intact, he closed the door, locked it, and walked down the street again; this time, towards an opposite direction.

When he came to their usual spot - a spot by the riverside where cherry blossom trees bloomed along the river - Koujaku was already there, sitting under one of the trees and staring into a distance. The summer air was a bit too humid for his liking but this particular place never failed to make Aoba feel at ease, as if there was a sort of aura the river emitted to cleanse the air and allowing him to breathe better.

Or perhaps it was because he was facing Koujaku that had given him such kind of comfort. He never knew the answer, but he was grateful nevertheless.

“Hey,” he called out quietly, afraid that he might accidentally disturb the tranquility Koujaku was enjoying at the moment.

“You’re here!” Koujaku, instead, greeted him with a bright smile, then patting at the empty space beside him. “Sit down.”

While he did, the silence stretched, the sound of breeze swiping across their ears. There was literally nothing to see from their position, besides the row of trees and the river. Koujaku obviously had something in his mind, his silence was a bit too deafening for Aoba to contain.

“Is there anything bothering you?” he broke the silence, hoping that his intention to help reached Koujaku between the lines. Koujaku, however, shook his head.

“You shouldn’t be worrying about me,” he said, giving Aoba a playful sideway stare at the same time. “You should be enjoying your peaceful life now that you’ve finally pulled yourself out of the chaotic mess.”

For a long while, Aoba merely stared at Koujaku with a thin frown in between his eyebrows. It was a sign loud enough to tell Koujaku that he was about to say something, perhaps something serious, and it pushed his remaining words down his throat, all prepared for the impact Aoba was to throw at him.

As expected, Aoba let out a loud sigh, one that was intended for Koujaku to hear before he fell back, lying on the dry patch of grass and diverting his attention to the orange sky above him instead.

“I thought you said not to take status difference too seriously between us,” he started. Koujaku didn’t know where he was going with this conversation but he listened to him nevertheless, sensing a long lecture coming his way.

“You know,” when Aoba spoke again, his voice was calmer than before, one that sounded as if he was reminiscing. “I’ve always admired you, ever since the first time I met you as a kid. You’re always, well…. a hero for me, even more so when you decided to take a step no one had ever taken before and in turn, putting such a heavy responsibility on yourself just for the sake of the people in this country. Sometimes I wonder how you did it. How are you so willing to do so much for people who are none of your concern? But whatever it is,” he paused again, this time turning around enough to look Koujaku properly in the eye. “I want you to know that your steps will never be futile. And I’ll be supporting you no matter what you intend to do.”

Koujaku obviously didn’t see this coming, his awkward avert of gaze had told Aoba so. A few ungraceful moments later and he broke out into a loud laugh, joining Aoba to lay on the grass ground as he settled his hands behind his head.

“Some things never changed, huh?” he muttered. “Thank you, Aoba.”

“Don’t say things like that to me.” Even without the need to see Aoba on the face, Koujaku knew that he was pouting again, one gesture that he loved to portray at Koujaku whenever he gotten the chance to. Intending to help Aoba with lifting the struggles out of him, Koujaku continued then, the initial heftiness in his tone nowhere to be seen.

“You’re right. No matter how much things around us are to change, this bond of ours will never change. You’re not a legendary assassin, I’m not an Emperor; and you’ll always be my childhood friend, I’ll always be your hero - the way you see me to be.”

Despite being awestruck, Aoba nodded with a beam, inching himself closer towards Koujaku and joining him to gaze at the same piece of sky above them.

“Do what you believe in. I’ll always be ready to support you, no matter at what cost.”

Koujaku never told Aoba that _Aoba_ was the reason why he could be so determined and so strong along the way towards revolution. He never told Aoba that he was the reason he’d make the extremely difficult step to shoulder a destiny many would never want to. But he had a hunch that Aoba might have known it all along - the way he’d probe Koujaku whenever he noticed a hint of apprehension on his face had told him so; the way he’d check on Koujaku to make sure that he wasn’t tiring himself out was a loud enough hint.

Even though peace was evident at this very moment, even though there wars were ceased, even though everyone in Midorijima was living life as if war had never happened before, both Koujaku and Aoba knew that these were all calm before a storm. They didn’t know when the wave of crisis would hit them again and it agitated them greatly. But regardless of when it’d finally come their way, they would be ready. As long as they had each other as their main pillar of support.

“Oh yeah, your _wakizashi_ ,” Aoba stopped Koujaku when they left the riverside, about to head down the road back to their homes.

“Keep it,” Koujaku smiled. Patting Aoba on the head, he started. “Don’t go running into troubles again, alright? I won’t be around all the time to look after you now.”

“Don’t say things like that,” Aoba frowned again. But this time, Koujaku was quick to intervene.

“I might not have a lot of time to see you now,” he clarified, seeing Aoba’s features softened at his words. “But I’ll try.”

Aoba laughed then. Shaking Koujaku’s hand off his head, he smirked.

“I might be younger than you but I’m no longer a child, Your Majesty.” Sending a light punch at the direction of Koujaku’s chest, he continued, still with a tease of hint in his voice. “Go be a good Emperor for your people.”

He could never win Aoba. Aoba had always been his emotional support, hence why he insisted to spend time to meet him whenever he could. But on a time they were both unaware of, things have taken a swift turn. He didn’t want to break the news to Aoba first - not yet. But at least he could get Aoba prepared to his constant absence from now on.

“I’m really grateful for this. You’re the only person who treats me as a real human, not as a puppet.”

His words left Aoba gaping in awe. But he didn’t intend to press on it either. Turning his back towards his childhood friend, he waved a hand at him, walking down the street and leaving Aoba alone to consider what he was left with.

There was an uneasy hunch within him, as if something was about to happen soon. But he wasn’t in any place to ask Koujaku. All he could do now was hoping that Koujaku would, as usual, excel and survive greatly at whatever he was to do.

In any case, he’d jump into the scene if he could. Just so he could spare his guiltily earned life in a well-deserved spot.

 


	2. Disconcerting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Perhaps both of them were trying to tell him something, but Aoba couldn't tell.  
> And all he wanted to believe was that he really belonged here - in his home, with peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Filler chapter to explain more things and give more context to the story! :)  
> Thank you for reading and enjoy~

Year 1865 was a year filled with nothing but blood, continuous shrieks, and wars after wars. It was a year of nightmare, of hopelessness; and it was a year where no one could do anything but cling onto any hope to survive. Some gave up; some ended up being barely sane. Some gave up. It was a personification of living Hell, one that no one could see the light of, and one where breathing was the only proof of being alive.

At times, Aoba would find himself sitting in a dark corner of a room, gazing vacantly at the ceiling above him as he let out quiet sighs. Often, he’d lift a hand and press it against his chest, only heaving a grievous breath when he noticed that his heart was still beating. The beats were usually frenetic, his whole body tingled with instinctive rush of… dismay, or perhaps, anticipation.

He could no longer make sense out of whatever he was feeling anymore. He knew that he needed to fight; because fighting  meant to survive, that fighting was his only option. He had no doubts in his skills either, being perfectly competent when it came to upfront fighting. He was good with his sword skills - in fact, he was the best swordsman one could find in this country - and he was never once afraid of death. The sounds of metal clanking between swords had been the regular sounds he heard in his ears whenever he was to step out of his shelter, perhaps even more than the sounds of speech.

He had never been afraid of death. Death felt like his greatest company, something - _someone_ , even -that had been accompanying him ever since he set foot into this journey of no return. It felt like something would greet him like an old friend if he was to give in to the temptation.

Now, as he sat in his own dark corner, he wondered how long had it been since he last sat in the warmth of his home and enjoyed a hot meal of home-cook dishes. He wondered if the chilliness he felt on his skin would come to an end if he was to fight for a bit more. If so, _how much more_  should he fight to end all of these suffering?

How much more did he need to sacrifice?

And how many times more did he need to sit in a corner like this, contemplating if he was just taking a break or if he was hiding from the sights of gruesome, cold-blooded assassins who were after his head.

He could feel the way his own chest raised, then dropped. He took a deep breath, fearing that if he was to slow down his breathing now he’d probably wouldn’t be able to breathe ever again. Swallowing down, he felt a excruciating pain in his throat, urging him to immediately raise a hand to clutch on it.

 _Hot_. He clicked his tongue.

This wasn’t the time to be falling sick. It could be all thanks to the fatal wound he’d unintentionally neglected while he was being chased by a group of what seemed like low-ranked assassins. He’d never been able to find the time for himself to treat his wound properly anyway. One second he’d be sitting all by himself and the next, he’d find a blade missing his head by merely a few inches.

 _I’m not dying here_. Repeating the words like a mantra in his head, he supported himself up by clutching onto a nearby wooden box, gripping his sword as he stood. His knees felt weak, as if all the energy had been sucked out of them and he had no other choice but to fall on one leg, the impact sending a thrust of pain right through his kneecap to the whole of his body.

“Ugh.” He could feel blood in his mouth; he could feel his vision waver. He could physically feel himself at the verge of passing out.

This was bad. If he was discovered now, he would die for sure. Feeling a tight squeeze in his heart, he pushed himself up again, distinctly hearing the cracking of his bones in his ears before he felt a piercing pain across his chest.

It was the wound from the slash he’d just received earlier before he escaped into this place. He’d treated it hastily, not having sufficient materials to help himself further and he’d thought that it’d be enough for him to make through the day.

Apparently not.

He took a few deep breaths again, feeling a throb in his head, then swallowed down his throat again. He was not going to pass out here, he swore to himself. Straightening himself up, he dragged his feet, leaving trails of fresh blood behind him as he walked towards the door.

He needed to get out of here. Staying here would only delay his treatment and death was the last thing he sought for at the moment. He would just… get rid of what needed to be eliminated and be done with.

As expected, the moment he stepped out of the hut, he was immediately surrounded by a group of assailants, clearly the ones that had been after his heels for the whole of the day. He lowered his head, the pain still tingling on every scar he had on his body, before he looked up, a smirk gracing his features, alongside a pair of sharp killer-like eyes that had the group of people taking a reflexive step away from him.

“Let’s finish this once and for all, shall we?” His voice was hoarse. But he didn’t expect them to hear him either because the next thing they knew, the assassin was slashing his way towards them.

They didn’t even have the time to spell their last words; let alone hearing what Aoba’s last words towards them were.

He couldn’t hear a lot of things; nothing but his own heartbeats in his ears. The hand gripping his sword felt slippery. Ah.. it must be new wounds again, he thought. The fight was quick and clean. It barely lasted for five minutes. All that he was left now was a sort of pressuring peace around him that he knew was too good to be true. Laughing silently at himself, he lowered his head, slowly opening his eyes, the first thing that entered his line of vision had him curling the corner of his lips higher.

Blood, blood _everywhere_. There was blood dripping from the tips of his fingers, the _drip, drip_ sound slowly replacing the heartbeats in his ears. He couldn’t feel his limbs. Probably some of his nerves were scarred. Would he remain numb like this for the rest of his life? Would there come a day when he would need to cut his limbs off just to survive?

“ _Aoba_!”

A loud voice cut his thoughts off before he could wander too far into the depth of his own fear. He looked up, just slightly and just enough to make out a shadow running his way towards him. Reflexively, his alertness increased, he raised his sword, going into a defensive stance. And before he knew it, he swung an attack towards the person running towards him, just to have his sword blocked down in a swift, easy manner.

“Calm down, it’s me!”

He had to blink the blood out of his eyes to make out who the person talking to him was. Letting out a weak smile, he dropped his sword, eliciting a loud thump when the metal material hit the floor before he fell headfirst into the man’s chest.

“Kou...ja--”

“It’s okay, I’m here. You’re safe now.”

Alongside Koujaku’s gentle voice, he could hear the sound of a herd of horses running towards their direction at the same time. Was he really safe? Could he trust everything around him? Would he face betrayal all over again?

He didn’t know the answer to those questions. He had no energy to contemplate further. But he knew one thing - he could trust _Koujaku_ , and nothing was safer than being held like this, in his arms, where safety was a guarantee.

 

He didn’t know how long he had passed out. When he opened his eyes, the first thing that he saw was gentle rays of sunlight shining through the window of a room he was more than familiar with. He tried to move, but his limbs were still useless so instead, he closed his eyes, inhaling deeply and trying to reignite the memories in his head before he fell into darkness.

All he could remember was the intense pain all over his body and a vision of red. But he remembered Koujaku’s voice in his ears - the way he called his name, and the way he’d assured him that he was now safe. He remembered Koujaku’s warmth when he hugged him, when he pressed his head against his chest and when he first heard heartbeats that weren’t his own. His emotions were confused. He was still terrified, but the will to fight was still strong within him. Every one of his nerves was tingling out of overwhelmed tension. He didn’t know how to sustain them, he didn’t know what to think or what he could do to calm himself down. He felt as if his insides were about to explode, that the vessel containing his suppressed emotions was about to overflow.

“Aoba?” He opened his eyes immediately, still feeling the edginess within him. “You’re awake.”

Koujaku walked into the room. He was out of his armors, now dressing in a casual way that told Aoba that he was _really_ in safe hands at the moment: no war, no fights. Just a momentary peace.

“You took quite a huge hit this time.” Koujaku sat by his side, one finger caressing the bandaged wound on Aoba’s hand before Aoba attempted to sit up, just to fall back down.

“Here.”

With Koujaku’s help, he sat up, instinctively leaning his head against Koujaku’s shoulder before he closed his eyes again, suddenly feel relieved upon feeling the warmth that he was more than familiar with.

He wanted to say something, and he knew that Koujaku was telling him something. But his mind was in a heavy dazed mode and he couldn’t make out his own thoughts well. He didn’t know what he was thinking; all he knew was that he was in this state of reflection that had cut his thoughts short and no matter how hard it was for him to make sense of what he was thinking about, all he could force out of his mouth was --

“I want to go home…”

It was too late for him to take back what he said. Koujaku had stopped talking then. He thought he’d irritated Koujaku. _He_ was the one who’d decided to take up the job anyway; saying things like that only meant that he was regretting his decision and he wanted nothing but an out.

But all Koujaku did was hugging him firmer in his arms, patting softly on his head before he felt a kiss against his forehead. He couldn’t make out what Koujaku was telling him after that either; his head felt too heavy to function.

But he could hear Koujaku’s voice, and the song his mother used to sing to him when he was young.

 

* * *

  
  


“Oops.”

He almost lost a step when he jumped down from the roof. After a quick check to make sure that he didn’t accidentally twist his leg, he straightened himself up, adjusted the straw hat on his head and was about to walk into the palace ground before he heard footsteps from a distance.

“Ah.” A small voice escaped his lips. He turned around just in time to see two palace guards making quick steps towards him, their spears held high as they started,

“Who are you?! Where did you come in from?!”

“Man, thought I’ve had everything planned out well this time.” With a low sigh, he turned his back towards the guards before they could make out his face and started running.

This was it: he had done it.

Both Kou and Hajima had mindfully reminded him not to get too full of himself just because he owned the place and he swore he’d taken their words into careful consideration. That was why he’d taken extra steps to make sure that no one was to pass by this area when he was to sneak his way back.

But it seemed like not _everything_ was in his control anyway.

He could hear the sound of no less than two guards chasing after him from behind. Following the familiar secret alleys that led him directly to his own palace, he averted the focus of the guards, successfully hiding himself from view and let out a relieved smile the moment he saw the extravagant building coming into view. He grew up here anyway, it’d be natural for him to know every secret passage that would come into full advantage for him.

Regardless, a havoc had been triggered. And if he was to be even one minute late, he’d find his secret exposed right there and then.

“Kou!” he called out the moment he stormed his way into the room through a back door.

“Finally.” Standing up, the person named Kou immediately took his golden-colored robes off, wrapping it around Koujaku before another person hurriedly came over and adjusted the ornaments on his attire.

Just when Koujaku was about to sit on his chair, they heard a rustle of footsteps outside the door, then the head of security appeared in the doorway, seemingly hesitant to walk closer while he bowed, a gesture of courtesy.

“Your Majesty, is everything okay here?”

Koujaku was still trying to catch his breath but as soon as his General looked up, he immediately pushed a smile out.

“Nothing’s wrong here. What happened?”

He could literally hear Kou and Hajima’s tension from behind him.

“We’ve received report that a thief had intruded the palace ground.”

“Oh, really?”

It didn’t really matter even if others were to find out that he had been sneaking his way out of the palace three days before a war. But losing his hard earned reputation and respect was the last thing he ever needed so instead, he put up a stern front, hoping he expression was serious enough to dodge any possible suspicions.

“We will inspect the palace ground and catch the intruder,” the guard continued, seemingly confused at Koujaku’s lack of reaction.

“Ah well,” Koujaku leaned back then, hands resting at the armrest of the chair before he continued. “If he’s alone then I don’t see a need to be so worked up over one person. This place is huge, he might just reveal himself if he’s lost somewhere.”

“But, Your Majesty…”

One stern look from Koujaku was all he needed for the man in front of him to bow again.

“Understood.”

“Now go on and prep for something more important,” Koujaku paused. The next time he spoke, there was a sense of intimidation beneath his tone that sent chills down the other person’s spine. “Like the upcoming war. I don’t tolerate failure.”

“Understood.”

When the room returned to its initial peace, Koujaku let out a heavy breath, completely letting himself loose as he slumped against the chair.

“That was too careless of you, Your Majesty,” Kou immediately said. “One second late and--”

“That’s why I wasn’t late,” Koujaku interrupted with a playful smirk. “Everything’s fine.”

“You’re just lucky.”

Releasing a bitter laugh, Koujaku sat up, took his robes off and handed it over to Hajima, who seemed like he was just released from a horrifying haunted house experience.

“But really,” he said while Koujaku stood up and walked towards a shelf, about to pull a few books out. “That was a close call.”

“Nothing will happen,” Koujaku assured again. As he walked back towards them, he noticed that both his loyal followers had been looking at him with thick cautious written all over their faces.

“Where’s your _wakizashi_?”

“Ah.”

It was both a blessing and a curse for Koujaku to have two of the most loyal yet observant followers he could ever find. A stretched silence later, he looked up into Kou’s cautious eyes, his own wavering gaze transmitting the answer for his question, strong and certain.

“I try not to bring along a weapon with me as much as he I could.” He already knew that there was no way they would shut up about this but he wasn’t entirely lying either: a weapon had always been a tool of killing for him; bringing along a weapon, or rather, feeling the weight of one on his waist felt as if he was all prepared for another round of murder - which wasn’t wrong, but it was definitely something he would want to avoid, especially when he was to wander off to a seemingly peaceful street - was something that had been discomforting him for the longest time ever.

“You seem to forget your position sometimes,” Kou commented after letting out a loud sigh. “You’re an Emperor. Many are after your head.”

“Not if they don’t know that it’s me on the street,” Koujaku retorted, still intending to stand his point.

“That’s way too uncautious of you,” This time, it was Hajima who had decided to step up his game. Koujaku knew where they came from, but overcoming his own barrier beneath his heart wasn’t something that could be achieved in a short time frame. He wanted to tell them so, but he didn’t feel like explaining himself more than he already did. This was a level way too personal to be approached by anyone but…

He swallowed down his throat, quickly returning his attention to the report he was reading.

“If you don’t take care of yourself, Your Majesty,” Hajima spoke again, after noticing that Koujaku wasn’t going to dwell on this topic any further. “You won’t be able to take care of people around you as well.”

 _That_ captured his attention.

Completely abandoning his book, he looked up again, the tension on his face gone, leaving behind a hint of faint melancholy. If he was to let it go, he might have to face this same topic all over again when the same situation happened again. He was aware of how uncautious he could be, and how he tended to move on his own instinct. But he was also aware of how _careful_ he could be, and that there was no way he would allow just anyone to harm his life when he now found a reason to live. It wasn’t something that he could bring himself to explain well, but he felt that both Hajima and Kou had a right to know, being the only persons who had decided to follow him despite knowing how risky their decision could be.

“This is a big place,” he started, his conversation opener sounded like nothing but vagueness. “And it’s where I was brought up.”

He sounded calm, as if he was reminiscing a past. Both Kou and Hajima simply let him be, knowing that he was heading somewhere with this conversation, even though it sounded like it had nothing to do with why he was walking around in such a defenseless way.

“But it’s also a place where I lost everything.”

Now the conversation felt serious. Feeling the tips of his fingers shivering out of reflex, Koujaku lifted a small smile, trying to find his words before he continued again, his tone slightly higher, as if attempting to lift the mood in the room up at the same time.

“Staying here can feel a bit suffocating at times,” he admitted. By now, both Kou and Hajima had slowly found the point of Koujaku’s words. They understood why he was so keen to stroll out of this huge four walls and into a town that was deemed too low-class for him to exist. They’d known about Aoba, known how much of an impact Aoba had towards the nation and how much of an impact he had towards _Koujaku_. They didn’t intend to stop him from venturing his way into town the way he liked it either. They had no rights and no control over what Koujaku wanted to do anyway, being the most powerful person in this country.

But at the very least, they would like to try their best to protect their leader, for he was one that Japan would never obtain for perhaps the next century.

“I’m very grateful for both of you,” Koujaku suddenly said. “I don’t have any good memories here. When I was raised here, my father was all about power and my mother was the only person who was genuinely concerned about me. I wanted to leave this place and never came back. But…”

He really didn’t need to explain himself. His abrupt action to take over the throne along with the speech he had given when he was first named Emperor had stated his intention loud and clear enough for them to understand where he came from.

“We’re just concerned,” Kou said, voice small, noticing how Koujaku was struggling to find his words. It made him feel bad for having Koujaku to talk about something he wasn’t fond of in the first place.

“I understand,” Koujaku let out a bright grin. “This place and the war has taken my mother away from me. I cannot let history repeat itself. I understand where you are coming from, I’ll be more careful with myself from now on. Thank you for the concern.”

“What do you plan to do?” Hajima asked then, intending to break the awkward air now flowing between them.

“Hm? I’ll bring along a weapon when I go out.”

“No, I mean. With everything that’s happening now, and the upcoming war,” he stopped, choosing his words. “It’s not just another war.”

“I know.” A frown was added onto Koujaku’s face then. As he picked up a report from the corner of the table, he scanned through it, the scowl in between his eyebrows deepened with every sentence he read.

The long silence was so tensed that even Kou and Hajima didn’t have the courage to break it.

 

* * *

 

 

“Ouch.”

“It hurts, right?”

Aoba had managed to return home earlier than usual. Stepping into his house right before the sun set, he immediately smelled the fragrance of warm home cook meal, feeling relieved that he had decided to cut his daily patrolling short for the day. He had been exhausted for unknown reasons. He was sure that he had enough sleep for the day and he was sure that all he did for the day was sitting around - besides the minor havoc that had occurred, which was only less than an hour anyway - and there was no reason at all for his body to feel so tired.

Then he remembered the nightmare that had woke him up and suddenly, everything made sense.

“Is everything okay?” Sei’s voice rang softly by his ear. It was the same question his brother had thrown at him earlier in the morning. He intended to give him the same answer but instead, his words were stuck in his throat and all he could do was lowering his head as he stared at his feet, feeling Sei’s gentle touch on his shoulder while he treated his wounds.

“Aoba?”

Sei was sharp, he knew that he was. He was even sharper when it came to Aoba. Perhaps the frequent nightmare that had him jolting up from his bed had worried him; or perhaps he’d noticed how he tended to bottle everything up in himself if he didn’t probe him enough.

“Something’s… not quite right.”

“What is?” Sei asked. He didn’t sound surprised at all; rather, he simply continued tending to Aoba’s wounds, patiently waiting for Aoba to organize his thoughts out.

“Everything,” Aoba admitted. “The atmosphere feels… wrong.”

“Is there anything else?”

Aoba didn’t know how his brother did it. Perhaps this was a privilege of being born as one of a twin; but that didn’t make sense either, because _he_ surely couldn’t read Sei’s thoughts as well as he read Aoba’s.

“Koujaku.”

“What’s with Koujaku?”

“He’s behaving very weirdly, like… He seems troubled.”

Sei removed the cloth that he was using to wipe the dry blood off Aoba’s shoulder then, proceeding to press herbs grass against the old wound.

“They must be connected then.”

Aoba didn’t need Sei to explain what he meant exactly. He’d had his own hunch. But now that the truth was spelled out in such a clear-cut way, it triggered his thinking cap, wondering if he was missing something somewhere that had caused him to overlook some sort of important details.

“Whatever it is, stay composed,” Sei continued, visibly noticing that Aoba was being carried away by his own thoughts again. “Observe for a bit more before you decide to do anything. Koujaku would know what to do. He might already be doing something about it.”

Sei was right. But there was something in the tone and word choice Koujaku had spoke to him just a few hours earlier that was troubling Aoba. He felt as if Koujaku was trying to give him a hint. And he hated himself for being unable to pick it up right and fast enough.

“I might need to do something,” he said at long last. Even if he wanted to keep himself away from further political conflicts, he _needed_ to do something to soothe this uncomfortable tension beneath his chest. “I would need to contact an old friend for this.”

“Not intending to do this yourself?” He wasn’t sure if Sei was seriously asking him or if he was just joking but he shook his head regardless, then turning around to face his brother the moment he was done with wrapping his shoulder with a few layers of bandages.

“The past should remain as a past.  I don’t intend to pick up a sword again.”

All Sei did was smile at him. Then, gripping both of Aoba’s hands in his, he caressed the back of them slowly with his thumbs before he leaned forward, kissing Aoba on the forehead.

“You do what you think is right. That _wakizashi_ ,” he continued, without giving Aoba a chance to retort. “It’s not yours, right?”

“Ah.. well…” He was pointing his eyes towards the _wakizashi_ Koujaku had given Aoba, which was now sitting on Aoba’s bedside table.

“Koujaku’s?”

Aoba’s silence confirmed his answer. Sei let out a chuckle.

“I wonder what he’s trying to say.”

“He said to help him take care of it,” Aoba wasn’t even confident with what he had just said.

“Really?” There was a mischievous glint in Sei’s eyes that told Aoba that he wasn’t perfectly convinced with what Aoba had told him either. Even Aoba thought that it was weird for Koujaku to do something like that but he was way too occupied by the unusual behavior he’d seen from Koujaku to care too much about his own hunch.

“It’s nothing,” he quickly said, noticing how Sei was intentionally stretching the silence while he waited for his answer.

“If I’m not wrong…” Sei trailed off, tilting his head sideway and moving his gaze to fix it firmly on the dagger instead. “But Aoba.” The sudden divert of topic caught Aoba off guard. Jumping a little, he could only return Sei’s sincere stare with a wavering one of his own, all prepared to listen to whatever Sei was about to tell him. “I never see you as a killer, no matter how much blood this pair of hands had touched.” The gesture of Sei’s hands on Aoba’s was gentle and perhaps, a little painful. “I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again: all I’ve ever wanted is for you to go with your instinct, to do what you feel is right. And when you’re out there fighting for what you believe in, always remember that you can come back anytime you want, for this is your home, understand? But,” he paused, moving his hands from Aoba’s hands to cup his face instead. “Don’t ever see us as an obligation. We are here to support you, not for you to support us.”

Aoba smiled, then shook his head.

“I want to be here.”

“But do you _really_ belong here?”

He’d never thought Sei would ask him this. At first hear it sounded as if Sei was intending to chase him out of the house. For all he knew, his family had been waiting eagerly for him to return from the battlefield ever since he’d signed himself up with a quest of no return. His last thought whenever he finished a risky kill was always how much he’d missed home and how much he’d wanted to be home, even though he’d never spelled it out to Koujaku, whom he had promised to assist with his revolution.

He always felt as if Koujaku could read his mind, though. Because before he knew it, he was granted the permission to return home when his homesickness was the strongest and when he almost lost his way through the river of blood and almost falling into a pit of no return. When he returned, both his grandmother and his brother had given him an expression that shouted of nothing but surprise. It confused him then, but the thought of wanting to be home was _genuine_ and if he could, he’d never want to return to the sea of blood ever again.

It had been years. He thought he was fine with it. But as soon as he heard Sei’s question, a sudden ripple of intense emotion ran through his chest. He wasn’t sure of how he should answer his brother, or if he was even confident enough to reassure his thoughts for himself.

“That aside,” noticing his struggle, Sei, called out, pulling his attention back. “Are you done with your preparation for the dance performance. It’s in… two days, am I right?”

Perplexed by the sudden change of topic, Aoba nodded nevertheless.

“Yeah, everything’s done.”

“Hmm.” Sei seemed like he had something else to say but the next thing that had rolled out of his mouth wasn’t something Aoba expected either. “I’m glad that there’s at least a place where people are still putting faith in you, even though they never knew who the person dancing for them was.”

“Well, it’s not something I’m proud of anyway,” Aoba said, completely upfront. “Having to perform a dance of peace only means that we’re heading for war again. Sometimes…” He let out a quiet sight, then leaning forward, letting his head fall against his brother’s shoulder. “It scares me to think that every time I dance, it means it’s one step closer to more sacrifices. Dance for peace, huh? More like a dance for sacrificial.”

“Do you feel uncomfortable doing it then?” Sei asked, his voice quiet by his ear.

Aoba shook his head. “No. It’s the least I can do.”

“Then try putting faith in Koujaku.” Hugging Aoba firmly, he patted him on the head. “If your dance is your way to pray for peace and safety, then Koujaku’s way to protect his own people is to confront the intruders face-to-face and settle everything once and for all. There’s no other options. He could either stand and fight or sit and wait.” Pulling their distance apart, he lifted Aoba’s head, staring deep into Aoba’s light-brown colored eyes. “You should know the best, don’t you? Being one of the warriors who had fought for peace.”

There was something not quite right, not only with Koujaku, but with Sei as well. It felt like both of them were hinting him of something that he had completely no idea of. When he was left alone, Aoba lied on the bed, his hands behind his head as thoughts of the past flashed through his mind. He thought about the time when he was still a child, when there was no war and when Koujaku used to sneak out of the palace, like now, just to see him.

He remembered when Koujaku once thought of him as a girl, and promised him that he would make Aoba his Queen one day. He also remembered when Koujaku found out that he was a guy, and telling him that his intention remained unchanged with a flustered face while Aoba pouted and smacked him on the head, telling him that he’d rather be his knight instead.

He never thought that his once joke would lead to a reality way too heavy for him to shoulder. Sure, he’d become Koujaku’s knight as promised, but the burden he’d had to carry along with the promise was way too overwhelming for him to sustain, almost pushing him to the limit of breaking before Koujaku pulled the brake and saved him out of the depth right before he could fall deeper into it. Koujaku had once told him that Aoba was his best knight and Aoba trusted him for that. He knew he’d created a name for themselves; but little did he know that the way it turned out was in the most unpleasant way he could ever imagine.

As he felt the drowsiness sinking gradually into him, he thought of how much he’d need to do to restore real peace to the country, and how much he’d need to sacrifice to return real peace into Koujaku’s heart.

He didn’t have an answer to any of those questions he had for himself. He didn’t know about the reason to what was happening with the disconcerting air in the town in the first place. Shaking the thoughts off, he let himself fall asleep, telling himself that he no longer wanted to be involved with war and that he really belonged here, at home, as Seragaki Aoba.

 

 

 


	3. Swift of Course

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was a memory from a faraway land; something that he never thought he'd remember.  
> But now the memory is back to haunt him - along with his nightmare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the long wait! This chapter introduces three new characters, who would play very significant roles throughout the story :) 
> 
> This chapter is very heavy with a lot of important plots. The lyrics in this chapter is from a Japanese Folk Song - [Red Dragonfly/Akatonbo](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PGfxhvU9YfE).
> 
> Lastly, enjoy! :)

War was never uncommon in this era. Despite venturing into an era where table talk was slowly but surely becoming one of the best keys to resolve crisis, many still stayed firm to the belief that victory on the battlefield was the greatest and only way to proclaim supremacy. Owning an upper hand was equivalent to possessing the advantage to take precedence over the other’s terrestrial - one imperative step that could lead to the conquering of a bigger continent and in turn, amplifying one’s power to its advantage. Despite the sole intention of Koujaku to put wars down to a minimum in an effort to diminish casualties ever since he’d seized his hands on the throne, his aspiration was never granted easily, especially when both external and internal factors weren’t in his favour.

The best he could do was to make certain that he looked over the groundwork and the process of the whole power-fighting scenario with his own eyes - just to guarantee that every battle ground they were to set their foot in was a war worth fighting for. And even with the many incongruities he’d landed himself with over the two years he was crowned as King, he had never once deterred from his initial intention.

 

“We would invade from the north. We have received reports that it has the frailest defence point because of its position as a central touching base for raw materials transportation beneath the wall.”

There was a fleeting silence where only the sound of pen tapping against wooden material could be heard. Then, a soft sigh was elicited, before a few whispering chatters that signalled a break for discussion was brought onto the table.

“Agreed. Let’s go ahead with that. Do you have your armies ready?”

“They are already on standby since a week ago.”

“As expected, huh?”

“I guess we are all on the same page on this matter then.” Another silence. “General. Please grant us instructions to invade from the north. We will then have our men to get into position.”

The solitude merely stretched. Another few pitter-patter echoes could be heard again, followed by a low sigh. Every living being in the dimmed tent appeared to be holding their breath while they waited for the General’s authorisation.

“I say we go from the front,” the General spoke after long last, his voice low and deep, but strong enough to reverberate around the tent, the silence deafening, the tension uptight.

“But General, if we are to go from the front, we are sure to meet them upfront.”

“That’s the point.”

The General’s words were diminutive, but they hit right into the notion, leaving no space for dispute before he leaned back against his chair, his eyes obscured in the shadows. There were barely any emotions in his voice, all that was radiated from his throat was hollowness - impassive words that portrayed a subtle hint of devastating dominance. The tent fell silent again; every living being in the space seemed to be contemplating the General’s final decision. It was when someone gave out a brash laugh that ultimately had everyone’s attention diverted to the person, staring at him as if they’d found a tip-off of hope.

“General, can we understand the rationale behind this decision?”

The person whom had spoken had a guttural voice. He sounded old, but astute all the same. As they held their breath, a small hum resounded as the General pulled his body closer towards the table, his profile now reflected indistinctly under the very weak light source of the candle on the middle of the table.

“Do I need a reason for the decisions I make?” His voice was lower than before. With his hands covering most of his lower features, they could only make out the barely discernible curve of lips, swallowing down their throat as they waited for the next thing to happen in great intensity.

Another soft laugher - one that stopped as hurriedly as it started. While the table droned with intense eye-to-eye sparks, wind started to blow from outside of the tent, hitting on the thick, coarse material of the shelter, as if threatening to break the safe walls down in any minute.

“I believe we have the rights to know the reason for our combat. And, if in any case any of us is to lose our life in the frontline, we’d know why it’d be worth it.”

Their eyes were fixed on each other for the entire time, with little to no intention to let the tension loose. The pair of piercing lime-green eyes seemed to be the only thing visible in the dark space while the General rested his hands on the table. Then, sounding as unruffled as he ever was, he started,

“From the day you swore loyalty to me, your life belongs to _me_ and I’ll decide what fate lies beyond you.”

He could’ve potentially created a pandemonium; one that was undeniably pointless, especially not at this very moment. And true enough, the moment the voice left his lips, a few people stood up with strength so antagonistic that the table shook with fury.

“Well, well.” Interrupting just on time, a man walked into the tent, an upbeat smile graced his features, his pink-colored eyes secured on every vision that was directed on him before they fell upon the General, who had his arms crossed, eyes closed, leaning against the back of the chair, seemingly without any intention to have anything to do with the mayhem he’d just triggered.

“I believe our General simply wants to test out the other’s strength before we push our heads into it, no?” the new man said, his voice a contrast from the General, who merely let out a nonchalant hum before he stood up and strode towards the exit of the tent.

“You’re under the wings of a prodigious General who’d saved all of you from cruel fates on the battlefield. I believe you could trust him purely by that?”

He could tell that not everyone agreed with the man; but he could also tell that no one would want to evoke any unnecessary arguments now either. With yet another cynical smirk, he walked out of the tent, a face of stoicism and with zero intention to fix the disarray he’d inadvertently instigated.

“Hey.”

He stopped. He already knew who was calling out to him even without the need to look back.

“You did that on purpose, huh?” Even though this very man had been questioning how _he_ could look so pokerfaced despite being in this very chaos, he found himself hurling the question back at him, questioning why _he_ could act in such a happy-go-lucky way as if nothing was his concern at all.

“What do you plan to do?” the man asked, noticeably noted that the General had no intention to answer him.

“I’ve stated my purpose loud and clear back there,” he said, voice remained cold.

He heard a sigh, turning around just in time to see his right-hand man shooting him a bitter smile. “You don’t expect people to obey you just like that, right?”

As a response, he lifted the corners of his lips, crossing his arms and turning completely around to face the man upfront. “They’re soldiers. Obeying is their only option.”

He wasn’t wrong. He knew he wasn’t, this man in front of him knew it, and he was sure that every living soul on this battlefield knew it too.

“You know I’ll trust you, _General_ ,” the man continued smiling. With a pat on his shoulder, he walked away. “I just hope that you aren’t planning anything reckless. As always.”

It wasn’t the first time that his right-hand man had given him this very advice either. He understood where he came from, but he was in a thorny situation himself – not only that he had to answer to his men, to his country, but more vitally, he had to answer to _himself_. Within him lied questions that he could never answer. He disliked the way his own fate was being locked down to one option ever since he made his existence into this land. It wasn’t something he could change, but it wasn’t something he could easily approve of either. He loathed how he was confined in this very cage that had been set up for him ever since his birth. He detested the idea of having to walk on a path that he knew was the most epitome for others but himself.

But, with the other warriors under his wings, he had no choice but to follow the flow. And the only way he could make living a bit more endurable was to ensure that he picked up interesting elements along the path of this unchangeable fate that could at least gratify his expedition.

Staring as the shadow of his right-hand man faded into the shadows, he let out a hefty sigh. The lights of candles illuminated his profile softly, dancing flames creating deep shadows on his appearance. As he shifted his gaze to look in the distance, at where he would be touching down in the next few hours, he could only clench his fists, once again cursing the destiny that he never wanted to conform to.

That very land was where everything changed. His memory was still crystal-clear; it was one part of him that had impacted him the most anyway. It was the one thing that had drawn him towards this very land in the first place, despite the intention being one of the worsts he could land himself with.

 

_Red dragonflies are flying in the sunset glow._

_I wonder when it was that when I saw it on someone’s back._

_We picked mulberries in the mountain field._

_And put them in a small basket._

_But I wondered if it was an illusion._

 

His first trip to Japan was an astute one; a memory that he’d never forget in his entire life, one that had given him the most impactful experience for as long as he lived. He remembered following his parents into the land, being all spellbound with the cultural contrast. He felt as if he’d entered a whole different dimension – one that was a whole new world of its own.

It was terrifying to know that such place with such huge dissimilarities existed in the other part of the world he’d come to know. It perplexed him, confused him, but enthralled him all at the same time.

He couldn’t remember too much about his trip to this foreign land; his mind too overwhelmed with the laden information. But he did recollect _one_ thing – the first time when he’d come to close contact with a boy by the riverside, who was attempting to catch a red dragonfly and almost toppled into the river if he hadn’t been fast enough to grasp him back by the wrist.

He remembered the boy’s pair of light-brown eyes, how his wavy blue hair swayed with the motion of the wind. He also remembered how the boy eyed him frighteningly when he seized him back, both of them stumbled and fell cripplingly on the grass ground. He noticed blood, but, with a stoic expression, he pulled his handkerchief out timidly, pressing the clean cloth against the boy’s scar and immediately conjuring a brash sob out of the other.

“Ouch, ouch, stop! It hurts!”

He stopped as he was told, observing the boy with a face that implied of nothing but confusion. Not knowing what to do, he handed the handkerchief to the boy, pushing it into his lap before he withdrew his hands, folding his legs up and hiding his face behind his knees.

He wasn’t familiar with human interaction, let alone one that was perfectly different from him. He never had a person staring at him with intense curiosity like how the boy did as well. Despite feeling stroppy, he found himself unable to tear his eyes away from the boy, who had started to wipe his blood clean with the handkerchief he’d given him.

“Here,” the boy said, pushing the handkerchief back to him. But he remained stock-still, his eyes brightened from the unexpected gesture.

“You’re hurt too,” the boy continued, pointing at his knees. It was only then that he realized that blood was oozing from his knee caps. He’d never noticed it until the boy pointed it out.

“Doesn’t it hurt too?” the boy asked heedfully. When he didn’t answer, the boy skulked towards him, taking his hands away from his wounds and prudently pressed light massages onto his scars instead.

“Tell me if it hurts,” he said. But he couldn’t care less. He never knew how it felt to feel ‘hurt’ anyway. He never knew how ‘pain’ felt like. And he remained silent while the other boy tended to his wounds, gaze lingered on him all the time.

No one ever did this to him before. He had had someone treating to his wounds before but this was the first time someone had given him such patience and consideration that it made him feel undeserving. He deemed that his inability to feel sensations had helped him significantly in eliminating distractions. He’d seen how kids his age fell and cry and writhed through the ability to feel ‘pain’. But this boy was different. When he fell and hurt himself, he didn’t cry. Despite the loud outcry he’d given out just now when he pressed on his wound for a bit too hard, he had been depicting steel-hard determination on his expression that not even one drop of tears could be spotted on his face.

It astounded him. He was different, he concluded. It was almost like he couldn’t feel pain himself, which he knew wasn’t true.

“What is your name?” The boy’s question snapped him back from his own thoughts. He hesitated. He wasn’t sure if he should tell him. He didn’t belong here anyway, so why would his name matter?

“You’re not from here, right?” His eyes brightened. He was right after all. He wasn’t unfamiliar with the feeling of being unwelcome, as if he didn’t fit in where he belonged. Now that this little boy brought his worries up, he lowered his gaze, the surge of discrimination thrived within him all over again.

This boy was judging him, he thought. He didn’t belong here, so he didn’t deserve to make friends. That was what he had been thinking for the rest of his life. That was what that had made him stronger than he could be.

But.

“My name is Aoba!”

He looked up. The boy was smiling blazingly at him.

“Welcome to Japan! What is your name?” he asked again.

He didn’t know how to respond. Before he knew it, he’d blurted out the very first word that had flashed past his head.

“Noiz.”

That was the last time he saw the boy. And he didn’t even have the chance to say a proper farewell before he was ushered back to his family ship, being stripped off his freedom as usual.

 

He knew he shouldn’t allow his personal emotions to interfere with his decisions. He never intended to have any of his own emotions to dither his team’s operations as well, especially not when it was concerning lives of a colossal group of people. He wasn’t how he was like before anymore. He’d undergone various stringent trainings, harsher restoration of willpower.

He would _never_ allow his personal emotions to get into the way of his duty.

As the ship sailed steadily towards shore, he stared out of the window, thoughts clouded with hesitance. He wondered if he was making the right decision back in the tent; and he pondered if he was losing control of his own composure bit by bit. He’d been a General for the last five years and he’d never lost one battle ever. The arena was his home. It was where he witnessed the multitude of emotions, the profuse resolution human beings brought along with them. It was one place that made him feel as if he was properly living.

Letting out a smirk, Noiz sighed. Perhaps this trip down to shore before the war began would give him an answer to why he didn’t approve an order which he knew would be able to put an end to the city in just a whim.

He took a deep breath. It wasn’t one of his preferred undertakings but when the time called for it, it was the least he could do. As he released his breath, he took a sideway glance at his brother, just to notice that Sei was staring at him with a gentle smile plastered on his face.

“Nervous?” he asked, then ushering him to lift his arms so that he could tie the obi around his waist.

“What? No.”

Sei chuckled. A final pull on his obi later, he helped himself with Aoba’s hair, where he tied it up into a high ponytail and started hanging the ornaments around it. While Sei did that, Aoba’s gaze fell to the [_kitsune mask_](http://40.media.tumblr.com/38727db345f8f8663c51c1887920cb12/tumblr_mq69hauYop1r8o3vyo1_1280.png) on the table. Lifting a finger, he stroked the edge of it, then tracing his fingertip along the red patterns, following the ink until it reached to where the ears were.

“This is such a curse…” he muttered under his breath.

Sei stopped rummaging with his hair then. Turning Aoba around, he smiled at the stunning outlook he’d dressed Aoba in – red scarf draped around his neck, light-blue kimono that gradient off to a bright white topped over a pure white _juban_ , complemented with a pair of hakama that fit perfectly on Aoba’s waist measurement. Gently caressing the silky material of the kimono, Sei then walked away, just to return with red ink in a small bowl, along with a brush.

“Stay still,” he hushed, urging Aoba to close his eyes right after. He could feel the wet and cold sensation near the corner of his eyes, realizing that his brother was drawing the patterns onto his face; ones that symbolised the ones on the _kitsune mask_ he was to wear later.

What was the point of painting these patterns on his face if no one would be able to see them anyway? Before he was to walk out of this back stage and right up to that stage where hundreds of eyes would be fixed on him, he’d be sure to wear the mask, concealing his face, erasing his identity. It was a belief of this town to remain the dancer’s identity in the dark. No one wanted to know who their ‘God’ was; in this era of pandemonium, people had chosen to live a beautiful deception over a cruel truth. It was ironic how Aoba had decided to take up this responsibility when Koujaku offered it to him. He knew it was one of Koujaku’s thoughtful effort to make him more acceptable in the community he was in. But for Aoba, bearing a title of being a ‘God’, or, like how the residents of Midorijima liked to refer to the dancer of this Kagura dance, a ‘messenger of God’, was an satirical title to be placed alongside his ‘cold-blooded assassin’ label. Despite Koujaku’s genuine consideration, he’d resorted to have his identity undisclosed instead. He was grateful that Koujaku had initiated this tradition to have a Kagura dance as a means to pray for peace and success a day before war, though. At the very least, illusionary or not, it’d provide a certain extent of heartening impact for residents who could do nothing but wait. And, in a way, it’d also provide a certain degree of confidence for the soldiers who were to head out of town for this very war.

“All done.”

Aoba opened his eyes upon hearing Sei’s words. Sei was scrutinizing his appearance while he stood rooted on the spot, awkward.

“Beautiful as always,” Sei complimented, which only elicited a bitter chortle out of Aoba. ‘Beautiful’ – a description that he’d never associate himself with.

“I’ll be right back,” Sei said as he placed the bowl of red ink back to where it belonged. “I’m going to get you some food. Stay here while I’m gone, okay?”

And just like that, he was left alone again. His attire felt heavy. It was custom-made, as requested by Koujaku. The refined sensation he felt against his skin was more than enough to tell him how much extravagance this piece of costume cost. Returning his gaze to the mirror, he hitched a breath when he found his own reflection. In the mirror was him, a once-assassin, now coated in what was supposed to represent ‘hope’. He reached up to his hair and twiddled with one of the red ornaments Sei had propped against his forehead, feeling the tough yet smooth sensation on his finger before he proceeded to touch the red patterns on his face. This was a representation of one identity he never was. In an hour time, he would be putting on the very mask on the table, walked up to the big stage located in the centre of the town, and stepped on paces that epitomised of nothing but a prayer of faith and harmony. He’d have his steps memorized by now, being the countless times he’d performed the dance.

But for some reason, whenever he was to do it, all he could feel was a hefty weight beneath his chest, often taking his breath away as he paced his burden away. The dance was fast-paced yet pacific; intricate yet impactful. It was supposed to possess a sort of therapeutic purpose but all Aoba felt was a suffocating sensation that often made it hard for him to breathe.

He took another deep breath, reminding himself again and again that this was the least he could do for everyone, the only thing he could do to repent his sins. Attempting to chase the suffocation out of his chest, he walked out of the backstage and, despite Sei’s request for him to stay put, he walked out of the stage area, then moving towards the congested city with a thicker, black kimono around him and a stray hat on his head.

He kept his head low. Being caught was the last thing he needed now. This whole tradition would be ruined if someone ever found out who was under the mask of the very person whom they were supposed to worship. He flicked an attentive gaze around, making sure that his coast was clear before he walked along the night stalls, thrilled with the scent of food invading his nostrils. His stomach grumbled, his eyes sealed on every one of the delicate plates of food laid out on the different stalls.

Finally found what he was looking for, his eyes brightened as he took swift steps towards his goal before his body hit a solid surface, causing him to step back frantically.

“I’m sorry!” he quickly said, and was about to lift his head when he hurriedly dropped it again. That was close. He almost revealed his face. But nonetheless, he took a nippy peek from the corner of his eyes, just to notice that he’d bumped into a person who was clearly not from around the area.

“Ah,” he let out a small voice. If that was so, there was no need for him to be overly cautious then. His old title didn’t mean anything to a foreign person after all.

“Are you okay?” the man asked. He was wearing a top hat, his entire attire seemed out of place. Beneath the shadow of his hat, Aoba could make out the striking blond colour of his hair, his brighter pair of lime-green eyes a perfect give-away to his identity.

“Fine,” he mumbled hastily. What is this person doing here, anyway? He knew that the war between his country and a foreign country had nothing to do with the people the said countries were in. In fact, Japan never closed doors to foreign merchants either, being one of the most profitable way of dealing with business for a long time now. Perhaps this person was one of those well-off merchants then.

But still…

“Are you looking for something?” he asked, eyeing the person warily. The man, however, kept quiet, his eyes fixed on Aoba the entire time. By now, Aoba was _sure_ that he’d seen his face; he didn’t have the intention to conceal it from a foreigner anyway.

But, unpredictably, the man only let out a smirk, before he closed his eyes and shook his head.

“I’m just looking around.” His voice was low and husky, and it did nothing to make Aoba feel less suspicious with this new presence in town. Why, of all this time?

“Hey…” he started, his gaze stuck on the man’s profile. His hair colour, his eyes colour, and that distinctive features; they all reminded Aoba of a faraway memory, something that he thought he’d forgotten. “Have we met somewhere before?”

The man elevated his smirk higher. Taking his hat off and completely revealing the whole of his features, he made a small bow, then meeting Aoba in the eyes.

“I don’t think so. This is my first time in Japan.”

“Oh.” His response made Aoba feel ridiculous, as if he’d just assumed that all foreigners adapted the same look. He really needed to do something about this obliviousness.

“Sorry,” he quickly said, realizing that he’d been leaving the conversation hanging for too long. The other man merely shook his head. Then, returning the hat to his head, he stretched a hand, patted Aoba on the shoulder before he waved at him, a signal of departure.

The brief contact mesmerized Aoba. It wasn’t the first time that he’d encountered a foreigner but there was _something_ that he couldn’t quite define about the stranger. Shrugging, he lowered his head again. He’d made a mistake once, this might be just another one of those assumptions that he had no way to prove it right. At the precise time, the roar of the crowd drew his attention back. Cold sweat travelled down his back. He’d wasted too much time on pointless business again. Totally abandoning the thought to grab himself some food, he strode speedily back to the stage, where a Sei with crossed-arms could be seen standing at the entrance of the tent.

“Everyone’s here,” Sei said with a frown. “I’ve bought you a quick bite,” he continued, pointing at the table. It was the same food – a bowl of beef stew – that Aoba had wanted to buy for himself just now.

“Koujaku?” he asked before he took a seat on the table, the smell of his favourite food cured every one of his qualms from before.

“He’s here as well,”Sei smiled. “He’s at the audience seating.”

“Great.” With one brief response, he gobbled the food down his throat, suddenly feeling more relieved than when he was left alone in the tent.

 

While the crowd rushed their way towards the big stage, Noiz halted his steps. He was walking on a totally different direction, despite knowing what the main highlight of the town for the night was. Turning around, he took one last look at the stage in the distance before he raised a trifling smile. He was interested with the dance, but he was far more attracted with something else. He’d recognized the likelihood of this trip being a redundant one; in fact, he should be spending time in his own tent with his own team, manoeuvring on the war they were to face tomorrow. But the situation had taken a turn of events.

The curious gaze _the man_ gave him earlier was still stuck in his head. He’d never thought he would trace _him_ so fast either, especially not in this way. He didn’t expect him to recognize him; rather, he’d prefer him _not_ to. He was sure that the impression he’d left Aoba when he was in Japan years ago was a highly optimistic one and the last thing he wanted was for Aoba to discover that he was the person who’d crushed his very nation single-handedly.

It was a beautiful deception, just like what Aoba was doing now – putting on a pair of striking attire, concealing his assassin feature with a beautiful mask, acting like the utmost level of hope to people in this town.

If Aoba was the God people in this place believed in, then Noiz would be the Demon people of the town dreaded of. If Aoba’s role was to eradicate destruction and threat, then Noiz was the destruction and threat.

At the very least, he’d still want Aoba to remember him as the person who’d saved him from drowning when he was still a kid.

Not the man who’d take everything he cherished away from him.

 

War started the next day. Technically, the town wasn’t affected a single bit. The battleground had been towed away from Midorijima, one consensus that Koujaku had been fighting for with his opponent. According to what Koujaku had said, the war was inevitable. It was a challenge from the other party, and it was better off resolving it legitimately on a battlefield rather than having the other invading this homeland by vigour. Aoba had seen the way Koujaku’s eyes went out of focus whenever the matter was brought up. If it was the past, Aoba would know exactly what was going on in Koujaku’s head. He was his best knight after all. But, hauling himself off battlefield burdens meant abolishing him off all that had got to do with the Emperor’s struggles. He’d never foreseen that ever, and he’d voiced out to Koujaku that he could still be of help if Koujaku needed him to.

But the Emperor’s words were absolute. And if he meant that he wanted to keep Aoba out of everything that might potentially triggered his killer instinct again, he was _sure_ to keep to his words.

There was nothing Aoba could do. Just like any other citizens in Midorijima, now he could just wait, in a position he had come to dislike.

While he sat in Heibon, the memory of seeing Koujaku off in the front of their walled gates sped past his head every so often. If it was five years back, he’d escort Koujaku, stayed by his side, clothed in heavy steels and armours while listening to Koujaku’s motivational speech before they took off. But, despite the unceasing comfort Koujaku had given him about him already being a great help for his Kagura dance, Aoba could never dismiss the hesitance within him, something that’d distress him for the entire time Koujaku wasn’t around.

He detested things that he couldn’t see with his own eyes, let alone realities that he couldn’t grasp on.

While he let out a gaudy sigh with his face pressed against the cold surface of the counter, the bell rang, indicating the arrival of a customer.

“Welcome to Heib— eh?” He sprung up out of impulse, but as soon as he saw who had walked into the shop, he gawked, eyeing the customer wide-eyed.

“Hey.” Not only that this person possessed features that were obviously out of sync with this town, making him so distinguishable that it was impossible for Aoba to forget, he also possessed a type of aura – perhaps it was thanks to the strident gaze he used on Aoba, or perhaps it was thanks to the husky voice that had been stuck in Aoba’s head ever since he’d first heard it – that sent Aoba into a deep state of perplex. He never thought that he’d see this person again, the brief contact from yesterday almost felt trancelike to him.

So he was still here. And Aoba was almost surprised to find himself heaving a relieved breath. It only meant that this man had nothing to do with the war Koujaku was in now. It comforted him for some reason.

“Welcome to Heibon!” He hastily regained his composure. “Are you looking for something?”

It’s ironic how he’d been asking this person the same question for two days in a row now. But somehow, he had a gut feeling that this person was looking for something, even though he had completely no idea of what _exactly_ he was looking for. He wasn’t particularly confident with his knowledge about Midorijima but he was certain that he’d be better-versed, as a local, over this newcomer.

After a browse through of the shop, the man finally shifted his attention back to Aoba then.

What business did this person have in this place, anyway? He should be a merchant, right? He shouldn’t have anything to do with weapons, at least that was what Aoba presumed.

“Do you sell guns here?” His first question upon entering the shop almost made Aoba jump from his seat. Guns? Are you kidding me? His fingers turned rigid on the counter, a frown appeared in between his eyebrows. Probably he’d been seeing this person the wrong way after all. He was, undoubtedly, a _foreigner_. And despite how much he’d wanted to trust a person, Aoba was sure that his killer hunch definitely meant something.

“Sorry, but we don’t sell those kind of things here,” he said, tone cold and eyes glaring.

“Hmm, isn’t this a weapon shop?” the man asked again, his emotion blank, as if he never noticed how he’d triggered Aoba’s wrath.

“Well, yeah, but we don’t sell things that don’t cater to our _local_ needs, mister.”

“Guns are reliable,” the man interrupted with a deadpan tone. “They’re quicker, stronger, and more accurate than…” he shifted his eyes to the shelf of lined-up daggers then. “…these.”

Aoba let out a loud cough before he found himself standing up, obvious flames irradiated beneath his stern glare.

“If you’re looking for guns, I’m sorry to say that we don’t have them here. And, one more thing.” Abandoning his store ethic, he walked out of the counter, heading unswervingly towards the foreigner and stood right in front of him, in a distance where he could make out the man’s impassive stare. “You seem to have gotten _how_ to use a blade completely wrong, sir. I’d gladly teach you if you’re willing to learn.”

The man was only astonished for a short moment before he grinned again; this time, his smile was less taunting. Rather, it contained a hint of admiration that Aoba hoped he was simply looking too much into details again.

Feeling the need to soothe the heated emotions in him, he took one of the _wakizashi_ from the shelf, waving it right in front of the man’s eyes before he said, tone sturdy.

“We are very proud of our weapons. They have powers that _yours_ don’t have.” Pulling the blade off its protection, he rested the metal material on his palm, fidgeted a tad at the cold sensation before he spoke again, trying not to sound too inelegant. “Every strength and every skill you’re to use on it would produce different results, depending on the person who’s using it.”

“But,” the man said. His voice had dropped one octave lower, and he sounded as if he was whispering more than anything else. “a weapon remains a weapon. Regardless of how different each and every weapon is, at the end of the day, it’s a tool for killing.”

This person was _definitely_ not a merchant, Aoba concluded. He couldn’t fight with that. But he could counter with one thing.

“Sure. But there are different ways of killing too. You can kill a person deliberately, to torture, to make them submit. Or you can kill the person off swiftly, just like—“

He came to an abrupt halt, his heart skipped a beat. What was he talking about? The way he’d articulated about _assassinating_ another person sounded so natural he couldn’t quite believe it himself. He _was_ an assassin, but it was a past he wanted to leave behind. Yet, judging from how he’d _literally_ educate a person _how_ to kill another person sent shivers down his spine.

This was wrong.

“Anyway,” he quickly said, lifting his voice while he placed the blade back onto the shelf. “Take it or leave it.”

He needed to calm himself down. He had gotten too heated up and he was even starting to feel the mere sensation of warm blood and of loud shrieks all over him.

He wanted to be left alone.

But then, he heard a small chuckle, urging him to turn his gaze back at the foreigner, who had been staring at him for the entire time now.

“You’re still like how you used to be, I see.”

His heartbeats increased copiously upon hearing that. Did this person know anything about his past? Did he encounter him somewhere? Was it during the time when he was still living the days of raining blood? Was this the reason why he thought he looked familiar when he met him yesterday night?

Instinctively, he raised his guard. If this was a visitor from the past then he had no reason to be lenient with him anymore. If needed, he’d even sought for eradication as part of the options, even though it may be the final decision he’d opt for.

“Anyway,” before he could decide what to do, the man had spoken again. Now, Aoba could no longer find the fortitude in his face, replaced by a gesture that Aoba needed to squint just to make out that very thin layer of tenderness. “I’m very new in this place. Do you mind giving me a tour around town?”

Why him? was the first question that’d popped into Aoba’s head, his expression gradually turned from a vigilant one to a confused one.

“I’ve never talked to anyone here besides you, so I thought perhaps you could help me out.”

Oh, so that was it. Did this man just read his mind though? Feeling less wary, he looked at the clock on the wall. Haga-san would be back at any time now and he’d be done with his shift. He didn’t have anything else planned after this either. Giving one last watchful look at the man, he nodded.

 

Once Haga-san came back from his daily pickup, Aoba bowed at him, led his way out of his shop just to see the man sitting on a bench outside of Heibon, reading what looked like a map.

Did Midorijima ever have its own map, though?

The man looked up when Aoba stood in front of him, his hair pulled off his initial ponytail as he beamed at him.

“Ready for a walk?” Responding to him, the man kept the map back into his coat pocket as he nodded, taking the lead and walking down the road before Aoba.

The street was as unobtrusive as usual, the atmosphere gloomy, most likely thanks to the fact that a war was happening beyond the wall they were confined in now. It was amazing how far yet how close the very commotion was to them. If they were to head out of the very wall that defined and separated their lands between many others around the world now, they was sure to witness the brutality of the battlefield, blood splattering all over the place, and sights that were too terrifying for them to even imagine. Many of Midorijima residents had witnessed war, but there were some who had been protected from even witnessing these cruelties, let alone feeling them with their own bodies, own sensations.

While Aoba paced with the man just walking a tad further in front of him, he unconsciously moved his gaze towards the sky – it was deep orange, a clear indication of dusk. It gave him tremors; it reminded him of the colour of blood, of how he’d once felt when the warm liquid rained on him, and how it felt to feels slashes and physical aggressivenes on his very skin. The scars still remained; he doubted they would ever disappear. But he’d seen _Koujaku_ ’s scar before. It was one night when Koujaku had stopped by his house – eventually staying the night – that he’d witnessed the very sight, right in front of his very eyes when he was about to pass Koujaku a towel in the shower.

He doubted Koujaku even noticed he was there then. He could only make out the unblemished cuts of his back from the gap of the door he peeked into. And from the reflection of the mirror, where Koujaku was staring intensely into the eyes of his own reflection, he could tell just how many more scars were there on Koujaku’s chest – many of those, like his, would never heal as well.

He’d never forget the scene. There were times when Koujaku would defend him from getting more wounds, literally slipping his way in between Aoba and his assailants and taking slashes and punches for Aoba. Aoba had been against it for the entire time, but Koujaku’s justification of him being more physically endurable than Aoba had ultimately made Aoba become more attentive towards his surrounding, resulting in constant waking up in the middle of the night thanks to kneejerk, over-anxious nerves.

He’d never had a good night sleep ever since he resorted himself into becoming an assassin, one who did the underground, back-alley work for his Emperor that was Koujaku.

Noticing that they had been senselessly walking for a while now, Aoba stopped his pace, then turned behind, just enough to make out how the foreigner was looking around as well, seemingly trying to memorize every corner of the street.

“Sorry, the town is a bit quieter than usual now,” Aoba started, for a lack of better words to say.

“Why are you apologizing? Is it your fault that it has become like this?”

“What? Of course not! I…”

The sense of guilt simmered within him again. He was never free of sins. And he had to admit that even though things were theoretically not his fault he still found a faint tinge of guilt whenever someone was to throw him a question that sounded as if they were questioning his entire existence.

“There’s war happening outside now,” he started slowly. “Even though we can’t see it here, we can somehow… feel it.”

The dark era of blooded rain – there was no way the residents of Midorijima could ever forget about it.

“I do remember the tragedy that has happened here,” the foreigner said. Now taking the lead of their meander, he observed every one of the stall by the roadside while he continued, as nonchalant as Aoba remembered him to be. “It’s natural for people to be haunted by it.”

He spoke as if it was completely none of his concern, which was true anyway. But for some reason, it convulsed some of Aoba’s nerves. This person would never understand anything that had happened here. Knowing was one thing; but he’d never know how it felt to witness loved ones being separated, or worse, _died_ in front of their very eyes.

“Despite the dark times,” Aoba said, sounding more strong-minded than before now as he picked up his steps to meet the man’s. “We are united. We stay as one. No matter what is to happen, we will always have each other’s back.”

“Is that so?”

The man had stopped walking then, causing Aoba to stop as well. The next time he looked at him, his gaze was cold, but there was unmistakable curiosity hidden within it. The sun was slowly setting now, the man’s profile was dimmed, gradient and soaked in beautiful orange colour. But Aoba’s attention was stuck at his stare – or rather, glare – as he clenched his fists, waiting for the man to continue his point.

He relentlessly felt as if the man was testing him, for reasons unknown. But regardless of what it was, he had no intention to succumb to him either. This was _his_ country, and this piece of land this very man was stepping on now, belonged to _him_. The advantages were all on his side.

“I’ve only been here for a day but I’ve seen things that are the opposite of what you have just described to me.”

“What are they?” Aoba asked, naturally curious.

“Like, how people intend to rob from me and how,” he paused, lips curving into a smirk. “they had been threatening others for money in dark alleys. Is this your country’s definition of ‘have each other’s back’?”

Aoba gaped. But he was quick to recover. With a frown, he retorted,

“Regardless of which country we are from, we are all humans and it’s only human’s nature to fight for survival.”

“By killing off your very own subordinates?”

Now he was _sure_ that this man was testing him. He felt as if he was reading his mind, analysing his past and questioning his rationality all at the same time.

“…We don’t kill people just like that.”

“Really?”

There was a strained silence in between them. All they could hear was the sound of wind buzzing past their ears, the hurried footsteps of residents rushing their way home, and the sound of a faraway bell, which was initiated from the palace to signify the curfew time for the residents.

“I just need one answer,” the man continued, taking a step towards Aoba as he did. “Is it _your_ nature to fight, Seragaki Aoba?”

Aoba’s eyes widened, his hand slipping into his kimono at the same time.

“How do you know…“

The man only smiled. Without answering, he sneaked his hand into his coat pocket – which then caused Aoba to take few steps back – and drew a pocket clock out of it.

“This is for you.”

Still extremely heedful, Aoba took a quick look at the pocket clock, then at the man

“Take it as a thank you gift for bringing me around.”

Pulling his hand out of his kimono, he stretched a chary hand, taking the pocket clock into his palm.

“Huh? Why does the time stop at 12:00 a.m.?” He was certain that it wasn’t twelve now, not in the morning, not in the afternoon either.

Again, the man only gave him a smile before he answered fleetingly, “You’ll know when the time comes.”

With a tip of his top hat, he turned his back towards Aoba, waving his hand back to indicate his leave before Aoba rushed up to him, grasping him on the elbow.

“Wait,” he said. Then, while the man stared aloofly at him, he reached his hand into the kimono again. This time, pulling a _wakizashi_ out of it.

“This is my thank you gift,” he said, pushing the blade towards the man’s hand at the same time.

For a long time, the man merely stared at the blade, then elating his eyes up to look at Aoba, questions obvious in his mute gesture.

“It’s nothing complicated,” Aoba raised a grin. “I just want you to know that our culture is not what you think it is. And,” he waved the pocket clock in front of the man’s eyes before he kept it safe in his kimono. “Thanks for this. I hope you had fun in Japan!”

As he stared at Aoba’s shadow vanishing down the street, Noiz sighed. The blade felt heavy in his hand, as if an entire lifetime of burden had been entrusted to it. He’d never hold a _wakizashi_ in his whole life before. Scrutinizing the blade as he pulled it off its shell, he lifted a finger, traced it along the metal material and only stopped when he drew blood.

There was no need for sympathy, he told himself. He couldn’t afford to have one.

The war had been continuing for three days. While Aoba lived his life like nothing was wrong, he couldn’t help but stare at the gate every time he passed by it. He didn’t like this feeling. He hated it. He dislike not knowing what was happening. On the third day of not able to do anything at all, he was almost hoping that he could return to the battle ground, like how he used to do. It didn’t matter if he was to fight again, it didn’t even matter if he was to bear more wounds again.

He _needed_ to know. He didn’t like this feeling. _At all_.

Sei had obviously noticed his discontentment. He had been spending more time with Aoba throughout the days, often talking to him until Aoba eventually fall asleep by his side. Sei had always been a great support to him. He wouldn’t even know what would happen to him if it wasn’t for Sei. Perhaps he would’ve sped his way out of the great door and right into the warzone by now if his brother didn’t stay devotedly at his side for the most time.

At long last, it was six days after that the door to their nation reopened again, allowing entrance for a group of what Aoba instantly recognized as Koujaku’s army.

The stone left his chest immediately. Instead of waiting in the sea of crowd cheering for their return, Aoba sprinted his way towards the palace, standing right at the entrance and waited.

He felt as if he hadn’t been seeing Koujaku for a lifetime. As he waited, cold sweat formed on his hands, his own heartbeats loud in his ears. He’d captured a glance of Koujaku when he entered earlier. He didn’t seem like he had sustained any serious injury but… just in case, Aoba would want to verify it for himself, up close, with his own eyes.

It didn’t take too long before Koujaku’s group arrived at the door. Upon seeing Aoba, Koujaku let out an upbeat smile and jumped off his horse, instantaneously pacing hurriedly over to meet him.

“Aoba, I didn’t expect to see you until tomorrow,” he said, the excitement palpable in his tone as his eyes glinted with strong gratification.

“Do you really think I can bear to wait for another day?” Aoba pouted, but just for a brief second before the pout was replaced by an apprehensive mien instead. “Are you hurt anyway?” he asked, lifting a hand to touch the blood stain on Koujaku’s shoulder, instantly eliciting a low hitch of breath from the other. “Sorry!” he quickly retreated.

“Don’t worry,” Koujaku returned with a bitter smile. “It’s just a small cut.”

“ _Just a small cut_ ,” Aoba repeated with a deep frown on his face. “I don’t earn my experience as a swordsman for years for nothing, you know? Have you treated it? How bad is it? Would it leave scars? Does it—“

Before he could finish his words though, Koujaku had pulled him into an embrace, the hug so firm it made Aoba hard to breathe.

“Koujaku?” he asked with a small voice. Based on the reaction he’d witnessed from Koujaku as well as from his soldiers when they made their way into the town earlier, Aoba was sure that they’d returned with victory. But as Koujaku rested his head against Aoba’s shoulder, his back crouched just enough for Aoba to return his hug, he could clearly feel how rapid Koujaku’s heart was beating against his chest. And, if his five sensations weren’t playing tricks on him, he was certain that Koujaku was shivering a tad as well.

“I’m glad to be back,” Koujaku muttered into his shoulder. Letting out a smile, Aoba patted him on the head before he responded,

“I’m glad you’re back. I was worried for you.”

“Yeah,” Koujaku said thoughtlessly. “I was worried too.”

Aoba had no idea what Koujaku was worried about. The town was in safe hands. As far as Aoba knew, both Koujaku and the opponent had achieved mutual agreement to not land a hand on any of the nations while they were on the warzone. If Koujaku wasn’t worried about his city, or Aoba per se, then it could only mean one thing.

“It was a tough fight but you’ve done well,” Aoba said, pressing a hand at the back of Koujaku’s head so that Koujaku was leaning closer towards him. “You stick to your promise. That’s all I ever needed.”

And that was perhaps why Koujaku was still standing in front of him right now. He couldn’t remember since when did he become Koujaku’s biggest pillar of support. Noticing that just a few months ago, he’d made use of this to ensure that no matter what Koujaku was to do, no matter what decision he was to make, he’d make sure that he put his own life as the topmost priority. For that, Aoba had _never_ failed to make him promise to return to him safely whenever he was to head out for a war. If he was still his Knight, he might still be able to support him and keep an eye on him from a close distance, though…

Releasing a heavy sigh, Aoba closed his eyes. This was not the end yet. Despite the victory they’d earned themselves from this war, Aoba knew that there was more to this war.

Koujaku’s expression and the way he was hugging him as if Aoba would disappear if he was to let him go has told him so. As he pondered, he was reminded about the pocket clock the stranger had given to him. He’d concluded that the stranger had nothing to do with their conflicts, that meeting him was a pure coincident. But with the way Koujaku was reacting now, he was sure that his hunch this time wasn’t playing tricks on him either.

He needed an answer and he needed it _soon_ , before anything could happen.

The entire day had been extremely tough on Aoba, even after Koujaku had returned. After making sure that he was well tended to – which resulted in Koujaku laughing at him, telling him that it’d be the last thing he needed to do to worry if an Emperor was being well taken care of – he made his way back, just to be greeted by a worried-looking Sei. It was then that he realized how late it already was.

“Have you eaten?” Sei asked the moment Aoba greeted him with a smile.

“Ah… Now that you mentioned it…” Aoba quirked a weak grin.

“Expected it,” Sei responded with a light one of his own. “I’ve kept dinner for you. Remember to eat before you go to sleep.”

“Thank you, brother.”

“There’s no need for thanks,” Sei chuckled. “Who else would look after you if not me?”

Sei was right. Truth be told, Aoba had been intending to stand on his own foot now that he was perfectly grown and capable of protecting himself. But at the end of the day, his family would remain as his family; it was a steel-hard fact that would never change. Nodding obediently, Aoba followed Sei into the house, the smell of home cook food immediately made his stomach grumble.

“Is everything okay?” Sei asked.

“Hm? Everything is fine,” Aoba answered, gobbling down a spoonful of cabbages at the same time.

“Koujaku?”

Aoba paused. How should he break this to Sei? Or should he even tell his brother his suspicions in the first place? Sei knew nothing about the stranger he’d met in town few days back. What would his brother think if Aoba was to tell him?

“Aoba?”

He seemed to be considering for a little too long. Breaking into an awkward smile, he continued eating, taking a mouthful of rice and swallowing it down before he finally responded,

“Koujaku’s fine too. You know Koujaku. There’s no way he wouldn’t be fine.”

“Well, I know Koujaku, that’s true. But I also know that he, like you, likes to keep things away from people, bottling everything up to himself and when by the time he finally spills the truth it’d be too late to save anything.”

Aoba almost choked on his meat. Lifting a wary eye at his brother, he felt instant goosebumps form on his skin, causing him to avert his brother’s eyes the moment he noticed how suggestive Sei’s smile was now.

He kept quiet regardless. This was his and Koujaku’s business. He didn’t want to drag his family into any problems as well.

A small sigh later, Sei said, the smile no longer visible on his face. “No matter what your decision is, I only hope that you remember that you’re not alone in this. You have a family for a reason.”

It was something Sei had been telling him for the longest time ever. He knew he could depend on his family, but pulling his family into complications that could possibly cost their life was the last thing he ever wanted. Thrown into a state of contradiction, he put his chopsticks, along with his bowl down, pulling his hand off the table just to hold Sei’s hands firmly in his.

“I’m sorry. I don’t want to hurt any of you.”

“Do you think we would sit around and see _you_ being hurt, then?”

Aoba fell silent. No longer had the serenity to force the words out of him, Sei leaned forward, stroking him on the head.

“I understand how you feel. But please, Aoba, never think that you’re troubling us. If you need anything, ask. Okay?”

That was the last thing he’d heard from his brother before Sei took his leave.

His chest felt hefty. There was definitely _something_ that he didn’t know and he hated feeling this way. There was absolutely _no way_ he could sit around and wait any longer. He didn’t even know what to do.

With a new sense of resolution, he shook his head, cleared the dishes on the table and headed back to his room.

It was after midnight that he heard drumming sounds on his window. Already knew what the source of the sound was, he sat up from his bed, extending his hand to open the window. A few seconds later, a shadow emerged, slipping his head into Aoba’s bedroom before a whisper broke the silence.

“Aoba, it’s been a while.”

“Hey,” Aoba smiled. Turning around to face the shadow, he continued. “I hope you’re doing fine.”

“I’m fine. How about you, Aoba?”

“Great.” A paused, then, “Well, not really.”

“Figures. That’s the reason why you summoned me here.”

“You know me too well as usual,” Aoba chuckled. Without further delay, he pulled a pocket clock out from under his pillow, passing it over to the shadow, who took it without hesitation. “Two things I need your help. One, that pocket clock. I’ve received it from a foreigner. I have no idea where he came from, and I have no idea who he is either.”

“Do you have his name?” the shadow asked, flipping the pocket watch to check on it.

“Ah.” How did he forget to ask for his name? “I… don’t. But he has blond hair and very striking pair of lime-green eyes.”

“Aoba, there are at least one million people with that look all over the world.”

Aoba sighed. “I know… But anyway, can you help me with that clock? It must hold some clues. And the time is stuck at 12:00 a.m., for some reason. I need you to find out where this clock is manufactured and if there’s anything hidden in it. Anything that concerns the background of it.”

“Understood,” the shadow replied, keeping the clock away at the same time. “The second order?”

“Haha, please don’t call it an order, I’m no longer in your world.”

“Aoba would always be Aoba no matter where you are,” the man answered, deadpanned.

“Ah…” As stubborn as usual, I see, Aoba thought. Regardless, he smiled again. “The next… request, then. Would you be able to sneak into the palace and find out some hints about what Koujaku is troubled with for the past few months? I have my own hunch but I still want to make sure before I make a decision.”

“Understood.”

“You… can let me know if it’s too tough of a task, you know?” Aoba asked, just to make sure.

“No problem, Aoba,” the man responded, and Aoba swore he saw him smile even from the indistinct lighting in the room. “I’m always ready to help.”

Feeling the weight in his chest lifted just ever so slightly, he stood up from his bed, walked towards the window and came face-to-face with the man. With another smile, he pressed both of his hands on the man’s face before he pressed their foreheads together.

“Thank you, Ren.”

 

 


End file.
